The Mudblood Lover
by LaZarus17
Summary: He felt nauseous. An inescapable dread weighed him. He'd be dead by noon, by Potter's hand or Weasley's. It was a toss-up. At least he hoped he would. That would be the easiest way out of the Dark Lord's mission. And he certainly didn't want to live after what he had done to her. Dramione. Hogwarts: HBP. Canon. Warnings: dub-con
1. Unexpected Visitors

The doors to the Malfoy gardens swung open as Draco strolled in covered in sweat. He had decided to spend every evening ﬂying, for he was determined, more than ever, to beat Potter to the snitch. So far his summer had been… well, _interesting_. With his father behind bars in Azkaban, the manor felt emptier and somehow lighter. He assumed the Dark Lord wasn't pleased and knew he'd have to atone for his father's failings. He desperately wanted to restore the Malfoy name to its former glory. Still, he was clueless as to how he would do that. The prophecy was gone and there was nothing Draco could do about that. Perhaps the Dark Lord would take the key to the Malfoy vaults as recompense—yes, vaults, plural. His mother must've been considering that development because though she held a strong front, Draco knew she spent most days anxious about the Dark Lord's return. The Malfoy's—destitute… Draco supposed that _would_ be the worst-case scenario; substantial monetary loss.

Still, he thought, while smiling to himself, they had galleons to spare, and no one knew of the vault they held deep in the Swiss Alps. His mother needn't worry the way she was. Draco's heart warmed at the thought of her. She was always fussing and doting on him. He had begun to wonder whether she was trying to compensate for his father's absence. He frowned not liking the direction of his thoughts. He decided to shower and go out to Diagon Alley. He'd buy her, her favourite chocolates. Oh, who was he kidding? He'd probably have half the box himself. With that plan in mind, he entered the west wing of the manor and began walking the length of the corridor when Nix, the house-elf apparated in front of him.

"Master Malfoy," he bowed his head, "Nix has come to announce the arrival of Master Nott and Master Zabini. Nix has asked them to wait in the library like Missus Malfoy instructed." Draco's brow furrowed wondering whether he'd made plans with them and forgotten. His friends rarely ever came around without owling him ﬁrst. Of course, he grimaced. They've come to check on poor Malfoy whose father is in prison. He was frowning again when he realized the daft elf was still standing there gawking at him.

"Go!" he snapped. Nix didn't need to be told twice, he disapparated back to the kitchens immediately. Turning, Draco made his way toward the library where his friends were waiting for him. When he entered the room, he found Theo had made himself at home laying down on the chaise lounge, and Blaise was by the ﬁreplace helping himself to his father's whiskey.

"Draco!" Theo exclaimed a little too uncharacteristically.

"Mind getting your feet off my furniture, Nott?" Draco replied. "It's antique, you know." Theo chuckled good-naturedly and sat up. Draco nodded at Blaise as he took a large swig of his drink. "What are you two doing here?"

A smile tugged on Blaise's lips. "Oh, we've just come to see how our dear friend is doing."

"I'm ﬁne," Draco clipped, returning Zabini's phoney smile with his own. "And you?"

"That's good. I just got back from my holiday home in Switzerland. Was dreadfully boring. There's barely a wizarding community over there."

"Sounds better than anything I've done this summer," remarked Theo.

Draco chuckled lowly making eye-contact with Blaise. The tall, dark boy raised his drink to his lips, smirking behind the rim of his glass. "That's not what I heard," he drawled.

Theo's eyes darted between the two Slytherins, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He ﬁnally rested his gaze on Draco, waiting for him to come out with it. Sighing dramatically, he said, "We know all about the little witch you've been shagging."

Blaise fell into the armchair opposite him, wearing a wide grin while he swirled his drink. The boys watched as Theo's face twisted with irritation. "That vapid harpy!" he muttered. "She's as three-faced as a Cerberus and uglier than one too."

Draco scowled, he could hardly disagree with the bloke, but there was no need for name-calling. "You really trusted Pansy not to tell anyone that she saw you running around Rome with some bint?" he guffawed.

"Of course not! I was hoping she'd, I don't know, _forget_."

"Pansy has a memory like an elephant, she never forgets a bloody thing!" Draco exclaimed. His lips twisted up into a sly smile, "Certainly never let Potter forget about his fainting episode with the dementors, did she?"

All three boys sniggered.

"She still harps on about the time you forgot to buy her red roses instead of white ones for her thirteenth birthday," Theo laughed. "Or about the time you forgot to help her with that Potion's essay."

Draco rolled his eyes and snorted at the hilarity that is Pansy Parkinson.

"But..." Blaise hummed, his white teeth shining against his ebony skin in a set grin. "She seems to have forgotten all about the time she caught you staring at Mudblood Granger during the Yule Ball." The mirth in Draco's face all but vanished. He was seething inside as Zabini sat there with a smug look of triumph. Nott was shifting awkwardly on the chaise lounge seemingly to have found a great interest in the tassels of the bolster cushion.

Draco furrowed his brows deciding not to take the bait. "We all know how jealous and barmy Pansy can be," he replied nonchalantly.

"Jealous?" Blaise mused in a theatrical manner. "Certainly… _but barmy_?"

"She is rather pretty," Theo said innocently. Both Draco and Blaise's eyes snapped to his, giving him their undivided attention. They were frowning as though he'd announced he was in love with Snape. "For a Mudblood," he quickly added.

Draco scowled. When the bloody hell had Nott began to consider Hermione Granger as pretty? She was… _insufferable_. He appraised his friend for a moment and wondered how many times the bloke had examined Granger to come to this ridiculous conclusion. "She's ﬁlth," he deadpanned. "End of."

With that, the conversation took on an anti-climatic turn. Theo began to recount the highlights of his Italian summer. Most included the witch he was seeing. Even Blaise couldn't help but drill Nott for information on his sexual escapades. But the boy had made it clear that despite Pansy's exaggerations, he hadn't shagged her which meant that the three of them remained, disappointedly, virgins. To be honest, Draco found he rather missed this kind of normalcy. He imagined for a moment that in another life he'd be more concerned about getting shagged than making amends to the Dark Lord. He considered the lengths he'd have to go to, the clothes he'd have to buy her, the ridiculous requests he'd have to fulﬁll in order to convince Pansy to let him do anything below the waist. He wasn't sure if he really even wanted Pansy in that way. She was affectionate and caring, but he'd never given a second thought to what she looked like underneath her robes.

He drew his attention back to the present. It was safe to say that Theodore Nott wasn't an arse kind of bloke. He was still regaling them with stories of his Italian witch and her symmetrically perfect breasts. Draco bit the inside of his cheek wondering how many hours his friend had spent staring at the Mudblood's chest. In that instant, he caught Blaise looking curiously at him and when their eyes met the bastard smiled as though he was privy to some sort of secret. Draco quickly looked away.


	2. The Enigma of Draco Malfoy

Draco's mother was getting on his last nerve.

"I'm not a child in case you haven't noticed Mother, I'm perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."

Narcissa Malfoy waved her hand dismissively and ignored his griping.

"Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child—"

He suddenly hissed as Madam Malkin pricked him yet again. Threateningly he said, "Watch where you're sticking that pin will you!"

This entire day had proved to be trying for Draco. He didn't have time to be babysat, especially when he needed to pay old Borgin a visit. He stepped up to the mirror to take a look at his new robes. He had to admit, they were striking, deﬁnitely worth having to endure Madam Malkin's wandering ﬁngers. As he was considering the ﬁt of the robes, he glimpsed three ﬁgures in the reﬂection of the mirror. His eyes narrowed. _Brilliant,_ it was just what he needed, _the bloody golden trio come to ruin the day. Princess Potter, the hand-me-down and Theo's little bint..._

"If you're wondering what the smell is Mother, a Mudblood just walked in."

In an instant, Potter and Weasley had their wands drawn and trained on him. He bit the inside of his cheek. _My, my, quite the fan club she has._ He was also somewhat aware that Madam Malkin was shouting and fretting, but Draco was distracted by Granger's black eye. He didn't think Nott would ﬁnd her so pretty now, not with that thing.

"Don't, honestly, it's not worth it," he heard her whisper to them.

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," Draco scoffed. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them ﬂowers." And really, he wanted to know. But before he could find out Madam Malkin was shrieking.

"That's quite enough!" By Merlin, the woman's voice grated on his ears like a banshee. "Madam, please!" _Wonderful, bloody well bring my mother into this, not like she coddles me enough._

"Put those away," she said in a deadly whisper. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" challenged Potter, taking a step forward. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart. "Really, you shouldn't accuse… dangerous thing to say… wands away, please!"

Potter still wouldn't lower his arm. Draco frowned at the scene before him, growing angrier within the seconds of it unfolding but his mother was smiling. "I see that being Dumbledore's favourite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

Something uncomfortable coiled inside Draco. His mother's words were far too close for comfort. If he succeeded in his mission given to him by the Dark Lord, no one, except perhaps Potter, would stand in the way of his reign.

Potter put on a show of looking around the shop. "Wow… look at that… he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

Draco was seething. He lunged forward, stumbling over his new robes. Weasley started laughing at him.

"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" he snarled, one snide comment away from hexing the both of them.

"It's all right, Draco," said his mother, holding him back by his shoulder. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius." Draco could tell Potter was itching to hex her. It was Granger, of course, that restrained him. Merlin forbid Weasley to ever be the one to keep a cool head. They stared at each other, incensed, when Madam Malkin, the crazy harpy, tried rolling up Draco's left sleeve.

"Ouch!" He bellowed. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother, I don't think I want these anymore."

Luckily, he'd pulled away in time, but he wasn't about to stick around to give her the chance to try again. He tugged the robes over his head as fast as he could, tossing them to the ground to lie in a heap. He started to leave, shouldering Weasley on his way out. His cheeks were still burning with embarrassment at being laughed at by the likes of him in front of the likes of _her_.

He held the door open for his mother and was surprised to hear the contempt behind her parting words to Granger. "You're right, Draco. Now I know the kind of scum that shops here, we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

Draco couldn't help glancing back at the Gryfﬁndor, stoic as ever, before following his mother out.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, his mother abruptly stopped. "What?" he asked, wondering whether she'd forgotten something at Madam Malkins.

"Son," she began with a grave tone. "You needn't stoop to their level. It's inappropriate for a boy of your stature to even speak to these people."

"He insulted you, insulted father and that redheaded prat—!"

"It's not Potter or Weasley of whom I speak of... it's the Mudblood."

"If I ever speak to her, it's only to insult her!"

"You're not to give her any more _special attention_ ," Narcissa said severely. "Is that understood?"

Draco stood on the streets of Diagon Alley stunned. He was mortiﬁed as to what she was implying. She may as well have cast a Petriﬁcus Totalus on him.

"She's the same one you always speak of, isn't she? The one who scored perfect marks on her O.W.L's, a Gryfﬁndor Prefect… the one who struck you?"

"Mother," Draco choked. "I loathe her with every ﬁber of my being."

Narcissa's expression grew weary at the intensity of the declaration. She raised her hand and gently stroked her son's cheek. "Yes, my darling," she sighed, "that's what worries me so…"

Draco's jaw clenched in anger. He was desperately trying to remain composed but the very idea of what she was insinuating sickened him. He took a deep breath and looked at her resolutely. "I have an important errand to run, I'll return to the manor as soon as I'm done."

After placing a kiss on his mother's cheek, he walked off in the direction of Borgin and Burkes. He had more important things to dwell on than his mother's mad musings on Hermione-Bloody-Granger.

...

The bell over the door tinkled loudly as he entered the shop. It was as he'd remembered it the last time he'd come with his father; poorly lit and coated in dust. His eyes roamed the case full of skulls and old bottles. The cursed opal necklace, which had drawn Draco's interest before had not sold; it lay resting on its velvet cushion behind glass. Perhaps in time, it would be useful, but for now, he wanted only to know how to fix the Vanishing Cabinet.

Despite his confidence that he was a competent and talented wizard, he knew confronting Dumbledore on his own would be suicidal. But if he had help...

Borgin appeared from the back, his beady eyes darting from Draco to the window outside.

"Young Master Malfoy," he acknowledged with a nod. "What brings you to—?"

"I have a Cabinet," said Draco, without bothering to put on airs. "A Vanishing Cabinet, just like yours—but, it's broken you see... I'd like to remedy that."

The man's grimy eyebrows furrowed, his lips set into a thin grimace. "You want to buy this one, then?"

" _No_ ," he sneered, losing patience. What I _want_ is to fix the broken one. Do you know how to fix it?"

Borgin paused. "Possibly," he acquiesced after a moment. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't," said Draco. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

The old man licked his lips nervously. "Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" sneered Draco. "Perhaps this will make you more confident." He moved toward Borgin and lifted the sleeve of his left arm up to reveal the Dark Mark. Its serpentine tongue slithered against his alabaster skin, almost hissing at him.

There was something satisfying in seeing the older wizard cower in fear. "Tell anyone," he warned, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for—"

"I'll decide that," he clipped. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."

Almost stammering, Borgin said, "Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, of course, I wouldn't, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not… sir," said Borgin begrudgingly as he gave Draco a lowly bow.

Draco basked in the newfound power he held. It was, he realised, not the type of power one was born with, nor was it the type galleons could ever buy. It was the terrible awe of fear which the Mark inspired, that he now inspired...

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," he murmured, bowing again. Draco grimaced. One bow had been quite enough, the second had been overkill. Seeing as his work there was done, he turned to leave the shop. As the door closed behind him, he looked to his right, and then his left. The paved cobblestones of Knockturn Alley were deserted. There was not a soul to be seen.

Quite pleased with himself, Draco made his way back to Twilfitt and Tattings, where his mother would be waiting with thinning patience. Strange though, Draco mused, because he could swear that upon stepping out of Borgin's and Burkes, he had caught the familiar scent of someone he knew...

* * *

Harry was nothing but obsessed with Draco Malfoy, so much so, that Hermione couldn't seem to ﬁnd a moment's peace to read. She'd been sitting on the window sill for no less than a minute with her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation when Harry had brought the subject up yet again. "Yes, I've already agreed it was ﬁshy, Harry," she sighed with exasperation. "But haven't we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?" She was growing impatient of having the same conversation over and over again. Her efforts to read were proving futile as she was continually distracted by Harry's repetitive scrutiny of what they'd witnessed at Borgin and Burkes. She became uneasy when Harry took it a step further and accused him of having taken the Dark Mark.

"It seems very unlikely, Harry," said Hermione sternly. "What makes you think —?"

"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark."

Hermione looked at Ron apprehensively. "I think he just wanted to get out of there," she said.

"He showed Borgin something we couldn't see," Harry pressed on stubbornly. "Something that seriously scared Borgin. It was the Mark, I know it… he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, you saw how seriously Borgin took him!"

"I'm not sure, Harry..." She looked to Ron for help.

"Yeah," he added slowly. "I still don't reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join."

Harry snatched up a pile of Quidditch robes and stormed out of the room with a sour expression on his face.

Ron gave her a small shrug and went back to cleaning his broomstick, admiring it with a kind eye. Hermione's head fell back onto the open book in her lap. Though, try as she may, she couldn't seem to concentrate on the words on the page. Despite her reassurances to Harry, she had to admit, it all seemed very strange. Mr Borgin _had_ been frightened—frightened of him, or what he might do.

Still, she couldn't fathom the idea that an arrogant prat like Malfoy would be recruited by Voldemort as a Death Eater. Following that logic, why not Theodore Nott, or Crabbe, or Goyle? Hermione began to mull the events over. They'd run into him at Madam Malkins while she was sporting a black eye— _which he'd made fun of, no less, thank you, Fred and George, for your Nobel-winning prize invention of the boxing telescope. Honestly!_

Things seemed to have escalated fast, especially when Mrs Malfoy had emerged from behind a clothes rack. It was so fascinating how physically alike their entire family looked. If she'd still been studying biology, she'd be interested in identifying their genetic coding. Perhaps if she could get her hands on a strand of his hair…

She shook her head vehemently, trying to find her train of thought. Where was she—oh, yes! Then Mrs Malfoy and Harry were having it out, and for a moment she thought she'd seen Malfoy cringe with embarrassment as his mother threatened to kill them. Then there was the spying-on-him part, which she wasn't entirely proud of, followed by the terriﬁcally bad idea of going into Borgin and Burkes with that awfully unconvincing cover story of wanting to buy Malfoy a birthday gift.

All in a day's work sighed Hermione. Exactly how she wanted to start the sixth school year off. Stalking Malfoy and pretending to like him enough to want to buy him a birthday gift.

She bit her lip making random guesses as to what it was he so desperately needed to ﬁx. Borgin and Burkes was a messy shop, filled with all sorts of odd-looking objects. There hadn't been one thing in particular that had drawn her eye while she'd been in there, so it was anyone's guess what it was he wanted to fix. All these questions rattled around her head, left unanswered... and there lied the enigma of Draco Malfoy.

After going back and forth over the events, she came to the conclusion that she could only be sure of one thing. Narcissa Malfoy was quite protective of her son. No matter how cold and cruel she was to others, she truly loved him.


	3. Beginnings

Draco stared out the window, his eyes following the blur of scenery as the Hogwarts Express rattled by. His mother had insisted she continue the tradition of dropping him at the platform at Kings Cross Station to say goodbye. Except it had felt like a farce; his father had not been there. Theo, who had been sitting next to Draco, stood up.

"Aren't you coming?"

Without tearing his gaze from the window, he murmured distractedly. "Coming where?"

"We have a meeting in the Prefects' carriage," said Theo quirking an eyebrow. "And then our duties..."

Draco blinked. "No," he said simply. "I won't be coming."

"But you _like_ being a Prefect," pointed out Theo.

"I said," Draco growled, his eyes finally meeting his friend's, "I _won't_ be coming." His eyes slid over to Blaise, who had been listening quietly on the seat over, pretending not to. Even Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were giving him curious looks.

He was about to snap at them when a soft laugh reached his ears, followed by a shock of flaming red hair. His lips curled into a grimace as he lifted his gaze to see whose voice had offended him so. Outside their compartment, along the corridor was Weasley and Granger.

"Look Theo," he drawled with a malevolent gleam in his eye. "It's your little bint."

His friend didn't give Draco the reaction he had hoped for. He merely scoffed, his attention focused on clipping his own badge onto the lapel of his robes.

Granger must have sensed being watched because as they were about to pass out of sight, she turned her head and caught his glare. The smile faded from her lips. Weasley followed her gaze, frowning in disapproval.

Draco responded with a snarl and a rude hand gesture. His eyes turned back to the window. "Fucking Weasley," he muttered under his breath.

A moment later, Theo left, and Pansy saw it as an opportunity to sit next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. Draco's mind went to the velvet box sitting in his luggage. He contemplated giving it to Pansy then and there but decided not to. The timing wasn't right, he reasoned, later would be better.

"Do you want me to come over tonight?"

"Sure," he replied dismissively, his thoughts far removed from the present.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I missed you," she cooed. "I haven't seen you all summer and—who's that?"

Draco raised his eyes. A girl who looked to be in her second or third year was standing outside their compartment door, staring in. She raised her hand and knocked tentatively with a look of utter reluctance before entering. In her hand, Draco noted curiously, was a scroll of parchment tied with violet ribbon.

Blaise, who had taken notice of her as well, demanded, "What's this, then?"

She was blushing profusely, averting her eyes. Feigning ignorance, she stuttered nervously, "You're Blaise Zabini, right?"

Crabbe and Goyle shared a snigger. Pansy's right eyebrow was arched up with hostility and a hint of something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Blaise smirked haughtily at the younger witch, enjoying her discomfort. "Guilty as charged."

"This is for you," she smiled, handing over the scroll. For an infinitesimal moment, as she was tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she turned her head, catching a glance of Draco. Her smile fell. She looked nervously at the others and ran—practically stumbled out of the compartment as if her life depended on it. He frowned, feeling slighted. He was no longer Draco Malfoy, sole heir to the Malfoy fortune. His title of fame had been reduced to Draco Malfoy— son of a Death Eater.

Then again, isn't this what he wanted? To be respected—feared?

It felt good when it had been Borgin, but much less so when it was some pigtailed Hufflepuff.

"What is it?" demanded Pansy impatiently.

Blaise had unfurled the parchment and was frowning at it as if it bored him. The Slytherin merely rolled his eyes and handed it over. Pansy opened it out for them both to read.

 _Mister Zabini,_

 _If you would be so kind as to join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C, I'd be delighted._

 _Sincerely_ ,

 _Professor H. E. F. Slughorn_

"Well?" prompted Draco. "What does he want?"

"No clue," drawled Blaise. "Suppose I'll find out at lunch..."

Draco frowned, trying to guess at why Slughorn would want to speak to Zabini privately. His friend wasn't bad at Potions, but neither did he excel at it. No, his talent was on a broom and in his vanity.

Was it something else then, something about potions class? Or perhaps Slughorn knew his mother—a terrifying thought, one which Draco didn't want to revisit. He gave up, his mind wandering back to more pressing matters at hand. How would he fix the Vanishing Cabinet? A part of him was itching to get a look at it again. If only the train would speed up and reach Hogsmeade station sooner, then he could stop the impatient tic in his mind. To the casual observer, though, he put on airs of a young schoolboy entirely at ease.

Without a word to the others, Blaise slipped out to go meet Slughorn.

When the lunch trolley came around a few minutes later, Draco noticed that Theo hadn't returned to eat with them. He must have gone to eat with the other Prefects, and for a silly instance, he imagined that Theo might be sitting next to _her_.

"What do you want to eat?" asked Pansy, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing."

"How about—?"

He waved away her persistent efforts to entice him to eat something. "Food on this train is always awful," he grumbled. A valid excuse he hoped, for his absence of appetite.

After lunch, he changed into his school uniform, making sure to tie his tie in a full Windsor knot as his father had taught him. Exhausted by even this small exercise, he sat back down next to Pansy. He couldn't muster the energy to make conversation with her. She must've noticed he was tired and offered to move to the corner so he could lie down.

Giving her a small smile of gratitude, he rested his head on her lap. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the comforting feeling of her fingers threading softly in his hair. He felt himself drifting off to sleep, letting time slip through his fingers. There was nothing Draco could do about Dumbledore while he was on the train. And with Pansy's rare silence, it felt that he had some reprieve. He was after all, in transit.

A few minutes later, or maybe an hour—Draco couldn't tell—the compartment door slid open, and he was wide awake. His eyes fluttered open and he cocked his head.

Zabini was back.

"What's wrong with this thing?" he cursed, trying to close the sliding door. Suddenly it was yanked open again, and Blaise went flying in an untidy heap into Goyle's lap. Goyle, twice as big as Zabini, flung him off with a grumble. Draco chuckled amusedly as he watched his friend trying to compose himself. He thought that perhaps he saw a flash of something, but he must have imagined it in the commotion.

Sniggering, he lay back down into Pansy's lap, a smile playing on her own lips as her fingers found their way into his hair again.

"So, Zabini," he said still smiling, "what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," said Blaise, who was still glowering at Goyle. "Not that he managed to find many."

The laughter died on Draco's lips. The Malfoy's were obviously not on that particular list anymore since his father's incarceration. A little more bitterly than he'd intended, he demanded to know who else had been invited.

Blaise lowered his eyes, a picture of calm and indifference once more. "McLaggen from Gryffindor—"

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry."

"Someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw—"

"Not him," exclaimed Pansy abruptly, "he's a prat!"

"— and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," finished Blaise.

Despite his Occlumency Draco could feel his cheeks flush with indignation. He knocked Pansy's hand aside and sat up quickly.

"He invited Longbottom?"

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Zabini indifferently.

"And Potter," he spat bitterly, "precious Potter—obviously he wanted a look at the Chosen One—but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"

"A lot of boys like her," said Pansy, her eyes sliding from Draco to Blaise "Even _you_ think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

Zabini clenched his jaw as Draco pursed his lips, trying to bite back another laugh at his friend's expense.

Looking pointedly at him, Blaise replied unfeelingly, "I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like."

They stared each other down. Draco was itching to say otherwise, but there was something in Blaise's tone that told him not to push it—because he'd push back. So, he sank back down, letting the comment pass.

"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. He used to be a bit of a favourite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or—"

"I wouldn't bank on an invitation," Blaise intoned. "He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry, he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."

Blood was pounding in Draco's ears. He tried keeping a blank expression, but his anger was getting the best of him. He barked a humourless laugh. "Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher," he quipped, letting out a yawn, expressing his indifference. "I mean... I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

Pansy's warm fingers lifted from his hair. "What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" she said sharply.

"Well, you never know," he said, looking up at her with a ghost of a smirk. "I might have, er, moved on to bigger and better things."

Pansy looked him in disbelief.

"Do you mean— _Him_?"

Draco shrugged, trying to act casual, but he could feel everyone's eyes on him and relished the attention.

"Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it… When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course, he isn't. It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" mocked Blaise scathingly. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for," remarked Draco quietly.

His eyes found Crabbe and Goyle who were both watching him like little children, their mouths agape with wonder. He smiled to himself, looking back up at Pansy, yet it wasn't awe that shone from her eyes. Though her features had drawn blank, her gaze spoke volumes. She looked frightened.

Draco knew then he had said too much.

"I can see Hogwarts," he said, clearing his throat. "We'd better get our robes on."

Pansy's eyes danced over his face, blinking down at him. Her lips parted, about to say something when Draco heard a sudden gasp. He looked up to the luggage rack above them, frowning. This time he knew he hadn't imagined it.

 _Potter_ , he grumbled internally. _Potter, Potter, Potter..._

He stood acting as if nothing were amiss. He felt the train slow to a jerky crawl as he opened his trunk to take out his school robes and travelling cloak. Despite his calm demeanour, he was fuming inside. Mostly he was angry at his own stupidity for not having realised earlier when he'd thought he'd seen something.

If anyone was going to get in his way and thwart his plans, it'd be Harry-fucking-Potter. Better to be rid of him now than to deal with him later. The train lurched to a final stop. He watched as first Goyle and then the others barreled through the compartment door, fighting their way through the crowded corridor, tossing younger students aside.

Pansy held out her hand, offering it to him. "You go on," he told her. "I just want to check something." Her eyes narrowed on him questioningly but thought better than to pry. She dropped her arm and left.

Draco was now alone in the compartment with Dumbledore's little mole. He moved over to the door and let down the blinds so that no one would witness what he was about to do. He then opened his trunk again, pretending to rummage around inside for something. With seeker-like reflexes, he jolted up, casting a well-aimed full body-bind.

Slowly but surely he watched as Potter toppled out of the luggage rack and fell with a thud on the floor at his feet, his invisibility Cloak trapped beneath him. Draco's lips split into a wide grin. Well, well, well, he'd finally caught Potter — curled up in the foetal position like a wee toddler. How delicious...

Beaming, he exclaimed with jubilation, "I thought so! I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back…"

His eyes lingered on the petrified figure, contemplating what to do with him. In front of him lay the boy who had been a thorn in his side from the moment he'd stepped into Hogwarts— constantly besting him at Quidditch and stealing the limelight.

Yet it was Draco who had scored nearly perfect O.W.L marks. It was _he_ who wore a Prefects badge and who'd been elected leader of the Inquisitorial Squad. It was _he_ who had mastered Occlumency and spells the likes which no one else had heard of and still...

Everyone flocked to Potter, ooh-ing and aah-ing after him like he was Merlin himself. How his father had ever thought he'd be the one to replace Voldemort was beyond him. The thought seized him with a gut-wrenching vengeance.

"You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here—" Draco lifted his foot and stamped hard on Potter's face, no doubt breaking his nose as blood gushed out. "That's from my father. Now, let's see…"

He pulled the cloak out from under Potter's immobilised body and threw it over him. "I don't reckon they'll find you till the trains back in London," he said quietly. "See you around, Potter… or not."

Draco made sure to trample his fingers as he left. Sliding the compartment door closed, a smile crept up his face. Granger would be most devastated when she discovered her precious Potter was missing.

...

Entering the Great Hall, Draco took a seat in between Theo and Pansy at the Slytherin table. He couldn't believe the nerve of Potter, trying to spy on him like that. He smirked in amusement, recalling how he'd left the Boy-who-wouldn't-die wholly incapacitated.

His smile turned though when he caught Blaise talking animatedly to Pansy. _And Zabini,_ he scowled _,_ _too smart for his own good, should learn to keep his mouth shut._ Draco wished he could be rid of them both, Potter and Zabini. Might as well add Crabbe and Goyle to the list. They hadn't stopped gaping at him since the train ride. He probably shouldn't have said anything, especially with Potter's new interest in espionage. He'd have to be more careful from now on...

Amidst the ruckus of the start of term feast, he looked over to the Gryffindor table. Weasley was scarfing down food as if it were the first meal he'd had in weeks while Granger was looking around frantically, searching for Potter no less.

Smirking to himself, Draco returned to his meal. He was picking at a piece of pie on his plate, when he looked back up and saw Potter walking down the Great Hall, his face still covered in blood, trying not to draw attention to himself.

 _Why in Merlin's name wasn't he on his way back to London?_

He sat down next to Granger who, in a matter of seconds, cleaned his face with the ﬂick of her wand. Draco clenched his teeth. The Mudblood seemed to know just about every bloody spell. He wondered whether perhaps Potter had only managed to survive for so long owing to her competence—though he'd never admit that to anyone. If he were honest, she _was_ a capable witch, more than capable, actually.

Draco glared at the two of them, sickened at the way she winced with concern, no doubt expressing how worried she was. With a malevolent grin, he gave Pansy a gentle nudge, drawing her attention away from Blaise. "Guess who I bumped into on the train."

She turned fully toward him, expectantly, but it was Crabbe who was eager to hear the story. "Who?"

Draco went on to tell the surrounding Slytherins what he'd done. He was glad to see that, at least, if not anything, Potter's idiocy could never fail to elicit a laugh from them.

* * *

Snape had certainly made himself at home in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Scanning the walls, Draco noticed he'd even gone as far as to hang art from his own private collection. Unable to look too long at the unsightly images he drew his attention to Severus who had begun introducing himself as the new D.A.D.A Professor. Draco felt a bit strange around Snape since he'd found out what his mother had gone and done. He was furious with her for interfering in his affairs and if he was being honest, he didn't really trust the man. He'd always had a feeling that the wizard had reasons, unbeknownst to anyone, for the things he did. Until Draco knew who Snape's allegiance truly belonged to, he couldn't depend on him for anything.

"What's the use of non-verbal spells?" Severus asked the class. Granger's hand shot up almost immediately. It was obvious that he was reluctant to call upon her to answer. For the brightest witch of her age, she really could be stupid. They'd been sitting in Potions no more than ﬁve minutes and she'd already managed to get on Snape's nerves. She'd do better to sit there and be quiet, but the little swot just couldn't help herself. He sniggered.

"You will now divide into pairs", Snape went on. "One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

Draco and Theo only had to look at each other to agree to partner up. Nott turned out to be surprisingly good at casting the non-verbal shield charm but seemed to have difﬁculty casting a jinx without subconsciously mouthing the words. Ironically, in Draco's case, it was the exact opposite.

He glanced toward the others and to his chagrin, he saw that Granger had managed to silently repel Longbottom's jelly legs jinx. He didn't like how pleased she looked with herself. Draco was just about to jinx Theo again when suddenly he heard someone shout _Protego_ , followed by a loud crash. He turned around just in time to see Severus lift himself up off the floor.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practising non-verbal spells?" he said to Potter.

"Yes," he replied stifﬂy.

"Yes, _Sir_." Severus corrected.

"There's no need to call me Sir, Professor."

Everyone gasped. Even Draco found that Potter had reached new levels of stupidity. Granger, on the other hand, looked disappointed.

Draco almost smiled. Turns out her sweet, dear Potter wasn't all that saintly after all.

...

Potions class this year had the potential to be very interesting. There were certain brews they were meant to learn that Draco thought would be useful for his 'special assignment'. Polyjuice Potion, speciﬁcally. He had attempted to make it several times before but could appreciate further instruction from Professor Slughorn. His father had spoken a great deal about him, and he'd even heard of his close personal acquaintances to famous witches and wizards. He didn't care all that much that he hadn't been invited to the Slug Club, but it annoyed him to think that he and Theo would be denied just because of their family's association to the Dark Lord. Theo was very good at potions, actually. He probably would've liked to be invited.

Within ten minutes of sitting in class, however, Draco realized that he didn't think he would enjoy Potion's this year after all. As usual, Granger had known the answers to all of Slughorn's questions and was rather impressed with her.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here… yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking bemused, as her hand punched the air again. "It's Amortentia!"

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn beaming, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and..." She faltered, her cheeks flushed.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Granger's embarrassment.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

He asked her if she was related to pureblood Hector Dagworth-Granger.

Draco leaned into Nott, " _Hector Dagworth-Granger?"_ he drawled. "The only Granger she's related to is a member of the London Dental Society, and fortunately for her, her father was able to ﬁx her teeth."

They both snickered.

Slughorn, to Malfoy's dismay, was grinning with a look of recognition. His eyes darted from Granger to Potter.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "'One of my best friends is muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!'— I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke."

"Yes, sir," said Potter.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger!"

Draco deflated. He watched the bushy-haired swot turn to Potter glowing, wearing an expression he'd never seen on her before. Weasley, to Draco's surprise, seemed to be a little irritated, insisting that if he'd been asked, he would've said the same thing. Just what the bloody hell—?

"Looks like Weasley's getting a bit riled up," Theo chortled. Draco turned to the Slytherin with a look of confusion. Nott's expression became apologetic. "Thought you knew," he shrugged, "Weasel and Granger..." Draco glanced back to the Gryfﬁndor table and watched them for a moment.

"But I thought Potter—" Theo was shaking his head.

"There was a big fight between them Fourth year, at the Yule Ball. Apparently, Weasley had been jealous of Krum. She went at him for not having asked her instead."

"I'll never understand why a Quidditch player like Krum would ask Granger to the Yule Ball," he frowned, remembering that particular surprise. Theo looked like he was trying not to laugh. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then deciding against it, turned away. Draco wondered if he was about to have defended the little Mudblood. Maybe he had wanted to say that he understood why Krum had taken her to the Yule Ball, maybe he, himself, would have liked to ask her— her and her perfectly symmetrical breasts.

Disgusting.

Snidely Draco remarked, "You must've been devastated when you heard the Mudblood had already found a date."

Theo's lips pursed in irritation. He turned toward Draco, observing him as he coolly replied, "I also heard they snogged… twice."

The only reaction Draco gave away was the slight clenching and unclenching of his jaw. He could faintly hear Slughorn speaking in the background, but he couldn't seem to concentrate with the thick floral scent permeating the Potion's room.

"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It's impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful Potion in this room—" Theo and Draco both exchanged glances, smirking sceptically. "Oh yes," said Slughorn, nodding gravely at them. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love."

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. He couldn't imagine how a silly love potion could ever be dangerous. He wondered though... how easy it would be to brew some and slip it into someone's drink. For a while, Draco just stared ahead in a daydream, some strange emotion clouding his mind. He only stirred to attention when the professor started talking about Felix Felicis.

A few moments later he was deeply absorbed in his potions work brewing a Draught of Living Death.

He was in desperate need of a little liquid luck.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was in an uproar. Crabbe had gotten his hands on some type of muggle alcohol during the course of summer, which he insisted tasted the same as Gilly water. But Draco, who was in no mood for noise, or any type of merriment slipped out to ﬁnd someplace quiet.

After wandering around the castle at night, he found a small alcove and sat in the shadows with his head bent back and his eyes closed. His ﬁrst two weeks at Hogwarts had been awful. Pansy had been very 'hands-on' with him lately and while he would usually invite that kind of thing it was beginning to cross certain boundaries he wasn't sure he wanted to cross with her. Last night she'd snuck into his bed and been quite suggestive.

Dear Merlin, he practically had to pry her off him.

He couldn't seem to concentrate on his classes very much either and found everything he did utterly pointless. It wasn't as if he was ever going to sit his N.E.W.T.S or go on to become an Auror. He never even really thought about what he would do after Hogwarts, until now... until he realized that he'd probably be killed. Either at the end of the Dark Lord's wand or Dumbledore's. He decided that the latter option would be far more merciful. But how could he possibly—?

"Malfoy."

His eyes ﬂew open. He couldn't believe his luck. It was the swot.

"It's ten minutes till curfew," Granger said staring at him, evidently waiting for him to get up and make his way back to the Slytherin rooms.

He stared back.

"Well then," she said clearing her voice. "You better get going, you wouldn't want Filch to catch you."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her and said in a low mocking tone, "Why Granger, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," she scoffed nervously.

Now I'm wounded," he pouted. "How will I ever face life again knowing that the Mudblood doesn't care?"

Granger's face became stony.

"Go to your room Malfoy or as Prefect, I'll make you."

Draco leapt up from his seat, a teasing smile playing on his lips but a menacing look in his eyes as he slowly circled around her.

" _You'll make me_?" he mocked, an eyebrow raised, as though she'd said something utterly ridiculous. For a moment he wondered if she would draw her wand on him. It was probably best not to find out. She was about to speak when he cut her off. "Y'know, it hardly seems fair. As Prefect I don't think you should be allowed to play favourites."

Folding her arms in a particularly haughty way, she demanded, "What are you talking about?"

"Well," said Draco, stepping forward. "We both know that _Boy Wonder_ wouldn't even know the difference between ﬂuxweed and knotgrass, let alone be able to brew a perfect Draught of Living Death."

Her eyes went wide with surprise. "I... I don't—"

"He cheated."

Granger looked torn. He could almost see her brain furiously at work.

After much hesitation, she straightened her spine and with as much confidence she could muster, said, "Harry didn't cheat. You really shouldn't be such a spoilsport."

"You're lying," said Draco, losing his cool demeanour. "You're an awful liar."

"Am not!" she cried in indignation. He stepped into her and she swayed back a little as she realized Draco was looming over her. He almost wanted to smile at how intimidating she found him. "And I'm not a bad liar either. You didn't know I was lying through my teeth to Umbridge last year when I tricked her into going to the Forbidden Forest."

"Of course I did," he scoffed. "I always know when you're lying."

Hermione's breath hitched, her eyes dancing across his face. Draco wanted to suck his words back in but they were in the air between them now. He was extremely uncomfortable with the odd way she was looking at him and he needed it to stop.

"Don't worry Granger," he sneered, beginning to walk down the corridor. "You can add it to the list of things you can't quite manage to do, in between, riding a broom, and getting Weasley to invite you to the Yule Ball."

Draco bit back a grin as he left her gaping.

His night had just turned around.


	4. You and All Your Gryffindor's

Ginny was sitting in a far corner of the library with Hermione, who was rather engrossed in a large book surrounded by other larger looking books. She, on the other hand, was absorbed in a Quidditch book, staring dreamily at pictures of players on their brooms, when she felt her friend's curious gaze on her.

"What are you doing?' asked Hermione.

Ginny smiled wickedly, turning the heavy hardcover toward her friend so she could get a better look. "Let me introduce you to Maverick Gold, he played Seeker for the Appleby Arrows. Don't you think he looks like Harry?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"No really, wait," said Ginny standing up to move to the chair next to her. She began to ﬂip the pages again. "And this one, a little bit like Ron!" she laughed.

Hermione tugged the book closer and smiled. "He does look like Ron!" she beamed a warm glow of affection. "Except his name is Patrick Sky and if he were still alive he'd be 302-years-old. Think you're somehow related?" she said teasingly.

It was Ginny's turn to roll her eyes. Hermione laughed, nudging the book back toward her. Hermione piled up her Arithmancy notes and began putting them in order. Ginny resumed ﬂipping the pages of the Quidditch tome searching for more look-a-like's.

Her friend was just taking out new parchment for her Transﬁguration essay when suddenly she exclaimed, "Wait!"

Ginny froze mid-flip.

Hermione leaned in and turned back to the page she'd just passed. "That looks like Malfoy," she said softly.

Ginny examined the image and conceded that it did, in fact, look like the Ferret.

"See the grey eyes," she pointed. "The marble skin, the sharp features and the…"

She trailed off when she caught Ginny looking at her strangely. "What?"

"Why are we checking out a bloke who looks like Draco Malfoy?" asked Ginny.

"No," baulked Hermione, closing the tome with a soft thud and moving it aside. "No, we're not."

"It feels a little like we are."

"No, it's just… it isn't like that, he's been on my mind is all— it's Harry's fault really! He's been on Malfoy's case, especially after what happened to Katie Bell. I was a little cross with him. He told Professor McGonagall that Malfoy was behind it all and it turns out that he was in detention with McGonagall herself that day for not having done his transﬁguration homework. He keeps rushing to conclusions without any evidence. You know how impulsive he is."

Ginny listened patiently to Hermione's rant. She took a little time to mull things over before responding. "Is that all then, I mean… is that the only reason he's been on your mind?"

Hermione took a deep breath and put her quill down. She began to ﬁddle with some parchment as if buying time to gather herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and secretive. "I ran into him on one of my patrols about two weeks ago—"

Ginny jumped from her seat. "Did he do something? Are you ok?"

"Yes, no nothing!" her cheeks ﬂushed, pulling Ginny back down to her chair. "I guess it just didn't seem important."

"And now it does?"

"Maybe—no—I don't know" she shrugged. "He was his usual awful self but it was…. strange. He was strange."

"Well go on then, tell me."

Hermione sat up as if she were about to make an important declaration, clearing her throat before she began. "I was patrolling the corridors when I found Malfoy sitting alone in one of the alcoves—

"Alone? That's odd."

"Yes, I told him that it was almost curfew but he refused to leave and then he," she paused hesitating, "well, he called me a Mudblood—"

"That prejudice arse! Seems like typical Malfoy behaviour to me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her. "Will you let me ﬁnish!" she admonished.

Ginny pursed her lips apologetically.

"As I was saying," she huffed. "I got angry and made it clear that as a Prefect I'd have to reinforce school rules. He said—and the cheek of him—that I played favourites, that I knew that Harry was cheating in Potions and hadn't batted an eye. Well, I lied of course and said he didn't. But then he said he knew I was lying, that I'm an awful liar and that he always knows when I'm lying," she snorted. "He claims to have known I was lying to Umbridge last year and well, then, he said… he said I could add it to the list of things I can't manage, including getting Ron to ask me to the Yule Ball."

Hermione was looking down at the table, clearly embarrassed to have brought Ron up. Ginny was, after all, his sister.

"I'm not sure," Ginny sighed. "I think he was just saying things to get under your skin."

"That's just it. He did get under my skin. He made me feel really guilty for having double standards for Harry and then guilty that I lied about lying and I don't even know where that comment about Ron came from. How does he even know about Ron, and did he really know I was lying to Umbridge that day, and if he did, why didn't he say anything?"

"Well—"

"So I told McGonagall that I'd help him complete the assignments he's failed to hand in," she clipped. "Apparently he's really suffering, academically."

Ginny's mouth fell open in shock. She stared at the bushy-haired girl as she coolly picked up her quill and started working on her homework – as if she hadn't just announced that she'd freely volunteered to help the Amazing Bouncing Ferret.

"Oh," she added, almost like an afterthought. "And you can't tell anyone, especially not Harry or Ron."

* * *

It was safe to say that McGonagall was not happy with Draco. He'd not only failed to submit his Transﬁguration homework twice but when he'd ﬁnally gotten around to doing it, he'd done it so poorly that she said she'd rather have a conversation with a mountain troll than try to decipher the drivel he'd written. It was a low blow. Draco cheered up though when she said she'd arranged for a 7th year to help him re-do the work. It was surprisingly nice of her, he thought.

Walking up to the third ﬂoor was tiring. He'd barely eaten or slept since he'd found out that Katie Bell was sent to St. Mungo's. Not only had he failed his mission but he had almost killed a girl he hardly knew in the process. Severus was on his case immediately. _Was it you behind the necklace? What's your plan? You've been foolish—don't be foolish._ He knew Snape would lord this over his head forever, especially since he had been the one to stop the curse from spreading and killing Bell.

Merlin, winced Draco, just some girl who plays chaser on the Gryfﬁndor team. Didn't Goyle say they'd gone to the same summer school once? She'd shared her cauldron cakes with him once. _Goyle loves cauldron cake_.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. But it had to be done. It had to be! What was he supposed to do instead? Fail?

Failure wasn't an option.

Draco realized he'd been standing at the top landing of the third ﬂoor, staring into space, only to be woken when one of the nearby staircases started moving. Luckily, the castle was deserted during his free period. Most students were either cloistered in classrooms or furiously working away in the library. Otherwise, anyone watching would've thought he was a nutter. He leaned against the stone wall of the corridor for a moment, remembering Aunt Bella's training in Occlumency. He closed his eyes for a minute to breathe, to regain control. When he opened them again, his expression was blank and unfeeling.

He located the classroom and opened the door.

"Granger?" he exclaimed in disbelief. Draco had walked into the classroom to ﬁnd the Mudblood sitting at the teacher's desk, her face framed by the light falling into the dark room. His eyes narrowed on her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he spat moving around to the back of the teacher's desk to where she was standing. He had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer to his question. _McGonagall, the old bint!_

"I'm helping," she replied with a casual shrug. Expect there was nothing casual about any of it—and the little swot had written notes on the blackboard as if she were a bloody Professor!

This was the last thing he needed, in the middle of the maelstrom that had become his life—for Granger to play pretend and spy on him under Potter's orders. How many times did he have to break the wanker's nose? Draco was losing his patience.

Hermione let out a loud gasp as Malfoy's hands tightened like a vice around her upper arms.

"You're hurting me!" she whimpered.

He squeezed harder, his eyes boring into hers.

"The lengths to which Potter goes to invade my privacy is astounding. If he thinks he can spy on me using a little skirt like you, he's a lot dimmer than I've given him credit."

"That's not…" she ﬂushed. "I'm trying to—"

"Lie?" he offered. _Merlin give him courage, he'd kill her right here_. The very thought of wrapping his hands around her dainty neck and... he lost his train of thought, suddenly acutely aware of how close he was standing next to her. It was the second time in the last few weeks he'd caged her in like this.

"Harry doesn't even know I'm here," she told him plainly. "Promise."

A smile suddenly played on his lips as he released her. "Keeping secrets from Saint Potter, are we?" She rubbed her arms and he was sure he had left red handprints from where he had held onto her. Good. There was something oddly satisfying about that.

"I don't let other people dictate my life, there's no need for me to ask permission."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, tilting his head and scrutinizing her.

"I ﬁgure I owe you one since you didn't tell Umbridge I was lying last year."

Draco sighed. He knew he was drowning. He didn't want to be in a position where he owed Granger anything but he could really use help, in any form, especially coming from the Brightest Witch of Her Age. He dropped his bag decidedly onto the ﬂoor with a thud.

"Fine," he conceded. He sat down and leaned back in his chair with his arms folded. "I should tell you though that the only reason I didn't tell Umbridge was because I realized too late. By the time it dawned on me, you'd already left."

She clearly hadn't expected that.

"Ok," she shrugged, trying not to look disappointed. "What gave me away?"

"I know what you're like Granger. Mark my words, you'd never give up information, not even under the _Cruciatus Curse_ ," he drawled.

She scoffed at the conviction he had in his assumptions of her. "And what am I like Malfoy?"

"Brave," he sneered, revealing his distaste for the word. He then began to empty his bag setting out parchment, ink, and quill. "You and all your Gryfﬁndors..."

"And the Slytherins would do what?" she scoffed, ﬂipping through the pages of her Transﬁguration notes. "Give each other up immediately?"

He was quiet for a long moment and when he ﬁnally spoke there was an unmistakable severity to his voice because he himself relied on the verity of the answer.

"No… we'd make sure we're not caught."


	5. Coming to Terms

When Draco entered the Slytherin common room, he found a few ﬁrst years in one corner laughing over a game of exploding snap, while in opposite armchairs by the ﬁreplace, Zabini and Nott were staring intently at a chessboard. Pansy was laid out on the rug with her Herbology book opened. She looked tired and when she saw Draco, though she smiled, it seemed forced.

"Draco, nice of you to ﬁnally join us," Blaise drawled, his eyes never leaving the game.

"Where've you been?" asked Pansy, her tone a little reproachful.

"Pansy," snapped Draco in a stern manner. "I have more important things to do than answer your incessant questions."

Closing the book in a huff, she stomped off to the girl's dormitory, banging the door closed behind her.

"Little bit harsh Draco, she was waiting up for you," said Blaise with a frown. Draco narrowed his eyes at him. He was beginning to think that Zabini had a little soft spot for her. They'd been spending a lot more time together lately but maybe that was just because he had been spending all his time in the Room of Requirement. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he fell length-wise on the couch. Just then the little ﬁrst year runts let out a raucous cheer.

Something in him cracked at the innocent sound of their laughter. An irrepressible burst of envy took over him.

"Get out!" shouted Draco, sitting up. "GET — OUT!"

They scurried to their dormitory, glancing at each other and back at the mean boy with frightened expressions. Putting his arm over his face Draco fell back down and closed his eyes.

Finally, some peace and quiet.

Finally, he could rest.

* * *

While Theo and Blaise had become accustomed to Draco's temper tantrums over the years, it had never been quite as bad, nor as frequent as this. The only other time they could remember Draco being this harsh with Pansy was Fourth year, after they'd all returned from the Yule Ball. She had waited for almost everyone else to retire to their beds before unleashing her anger at Draco. Blaise and Theo, the only two others who'd still been awake arguing over which Greengrass sister was prettier, had heard a commotion and gone to the door to eavesdrop.

 _"What was that?" she screamed. "You were staring at her the whole night."_

 _"Well_ _how could I not, she was with Victor Krum, it was revolting. I never thought he'd be a Mudblood lover, I mean how could he have asked her to the Ball? There's such a thing as propriety and what he did was so..." Draco paused, scrambling to find the right word. "Improper!"_

 _"I can't believe it!" exclaimed Pansy. "You're jealous he was with the Mudblood, you're jealous that he asked her and you couldn't!"_

 _Then there was an eerie silence and they couldn't hear what Draco was saying because when he spoke it was low and menacing, but whatever it was, it had scared Pansy into shutting up and to their knowledge she'd never brought it up again._

Blaise gave Theo a pointed look. The tall, wiry Slytherin stood and cast a _Mufﬂiato_.

Draco started. "What's this?" he asked, sitting up straight.

The two boys looked at each other before asking, "Was it you?"

"Was what me?" he replied, his face expressionless.

"The necklace," hissed Blaise.

Draco smiled at him and retorted in a condescending tone, "Zabini, I had no idea you were thinking of accessorizing, may I suggest gold earrings to make your eyes sparkle?"

The dark boy scoffed. "Screw this," he said walking out.

Theo waited for Blaise to be out of earshot and asked again, "So was it?"

"Don't," he mumbled tiredly. "Just don't."

To Theo, Draco's answer was more or less a confession.

"Your mother wrote me," he said sitting down next to him. Draco's eyes narrowed questioningly. "She wants me to help you practice Occlumency."

Draco stood slowly. "Why the bloody hell would she want that?" he asked, exasperated. "I've already been trained—and why the bloody hell are you keeping correspondence with _my_ mother?"

Theo took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was to come next.

"She's scared he'll look inside and see the witch."

Theo had to give credit where credit was due. Draco was a master at control. He barely blinked.

"What witch?"

"You're going to get yourself killed Draco," whispered Theo, forgetting he had cast a silencing charm.

"I have no idea what you're on about."

"Merlin Draco, I've been your best friend since we were toddlers and—"

"Blaise is my best friend."

"That's a load of dragonshite! Blaise is a ﬁrst-class prick."

Draco pursed his lips, probably remembering second year when Zabini had tried to trick him into eating Doxy eggs.

"Fine," he conceded.

"You're going to listen to what I have to say."

"I don't have to do a single bloody thing."

"Shut up!" he spat. His best friend was getting on his last nerve. "You've always been spoiled Draco, your father saw to that. You would just throw a little tantrum and _Accio,_ you had it. It's a terrible fucking thing, to have been handed everything except the one thing you're not even allowed to ask for — now I don't need you to admit it to me, but it needs to stop."

"I serve the Dark Lord," he growled menacingly. "I took the Mark, I was chosen. Me! Above all others—"

"You could take the Dark Mark a hundred times over and you would still be obsessed with Hermione Granger."

"Just because you fantasize about the Mudblood, Nott, doesn't mean everyone else does!"

Theo sighed, feeling weary. Draco who was furious started to leave.

"I hope that's the truth," he called out to him before lifting the _mufﬂiato._ "Because if your employer ﬁnds out, he'll kill her in front you."

* * *

Hermione had lost track of time. She thought she'd try her luck in the library to find out who the Half-Blood Prince was. She had looked before but there was always a chance she'd missed something. Her efforts, however, were wasted. She couldn't ﬁnd a single reference to the Half-blood Prince anywhere. By the time she reached the third floor, she was already ten minutes late. She opened the door and was somewhat surprised to see that Malfoy hadn't left. What was more unexpected was the ﬂock of yellow canaries circling above his head.

"Look who's ﬁnally decided to grace me with her presence," he sneered. "It's the—"

"Did you conjure those?"

"Do you see anyone else in the room?"

Confessing breathlessly, she said, "That's really impressive magic, Malfoy. Where did you learn it?"

The birds suddenly vanished. Hermione was sad to see them go. He looked at her with some concealed emotion.

There was a long pause before he ﬁnally spoke, his voice quiet. "My father," he murmured. "He used to conjure them for me when I was little." Then he continued to stare accusingly at her as though she was solely responsible for his incarceration. She averted her eyes and took a seat on the opposite side of the table. Her heart clenched with sympathy for him, though she knew he deserved none.

After an appropriate length of silence, Hermione asked to see his work. She'd gone through the ﬁrst essay question with him a few days ago and had asked him to write the draft.

"Right... I didn't have time."

"Didn't have time?"

"I was busy," he growled.

She tutted. "This was only meant to be a two-hour sit-down Malfoy. You're on your own."

"Fine... I don't care."

"You got Outstanding in your O.W.L.S for Transﬁguration. Frankly, I'm surprised you're having such a difﬁcult time."

Draco tilted his head to the side. "How do you know that?"

She shrugged as if it was of no consequence as to how she knew, just that she did.

He continued to appraise her when abruptly he said, "Wonder what McGonagall will think when I hand in subpar work after being tutored by _you_."

Hermione blinked.

"I may have to mention you were half an hour late."

"I was ten minutes late!"

"Were you?" he said furrowing his eyebrows pretending to look confused. "You're right, it might have been an hour."

"Fine," she said between clenched teeth. "We'll write the draft together. We'll do the ﬁrst essay question today and then meet again next week to ﬁnalize the second." Malfoy looked like the cat who got the cream. She didn't like that smug smile on him at all. "Oh, but in return, you're going to teach me that bird charm."

His face fell. She gave him a victory-worthy smile, as he watched her, deliberating his next move.

"Deal," he conceded after some moments.

But he didn't look too happy about the exchange.


	6. Golden Gifts

Hermione was sitting on her bed in a fit of laughter watching Ginny's impersonation of Ernie Macmillan.

"Honestly," Ginny laughed. "He's a bigger snob than Zabini!"

"I don't entirely mind him, he's funny without meaning to be," she remarked.

Suddenly there was a loud thump against the glass startling the two girls.

Ginny jumped out of bed. "It's an owl," she said going toward the window. Hermione watched as a Great grey owl flew in and perched itself on her bedside table. Seeing that it had a small white envelope in its talons Ginny reached out to take it.

"Ouch!" she hissed, flinching. "Damn bird pecked me!"

Before Hermione could ask if she was alright, the owl had swooped up, dropped the envelope onto her lap and flew back out the window without so much as asking for a treat. The envelope itself was blank, but Hermione could feel something inside. Ginny watched her open it with tentative hands. Her brow furrowed as she pulled out a piece of jewellery.

"It's a bracelet," said Hermione looking a little vexed. At that moment Parvati and Lavender walked in, giggling to themselves, most likely about a boy.

"What's that?" Lavender exclaimed with amusement.

Parvati grinned. "It's gorgeous," she said reaching to take it from Hermione.. "Give it here, let's have a look."

But as soon as the bracelet touched her skin, she released a loud yelp.

"Hermione, what the hell, that thing just burnt me!"

"Who sent it to you?" demanded Ginny.

"I wouldn't know, the envelope wasn't addressed," she muttered bewildered as she bent down to pick up the bracelet, which had fallen to the floor. On closer observation, Hermione discerned that it was primarily a thin gold chain with a small gold coin attached to it. "It's got a coin charm," she said softly.

Without giving it much thought, Hermione began to put it on but saw that he had no clasp.

"Don't!" interjected Parvati. "Remember what happened to Katie Bell!"

'She's right," added Ginny. "It could be dangerous."

But before anyone could say anything more, the bracelet encircled her wrist on its own and clasped shut.

All three girls stood gaping over Hermione, waiting for some dark curse to take hold of her.

"Nothing's happening," she shrugged holding up her wrist. The coin glinted, catching the light. It was such a beautiful bracelet, Hermione had never seen anything quite like it.

"Oh," Lavender sighed, sounding relieved with an underlying tone of disappointment. After fifteen minutes of arguing about who had sent it to her, and why, the Gryffindor girls went to their individual beds to sleep.

The next morning Lavender announced, quite loudly over breakfast, that the bracelet must be a gift from Victor Krum. Who else, she claimed, would have given her such a lavish gift?

* * *

Draco had arrived a little early for his last study session with Granger. He couldn't let the little Mudblood think he was an imbecile so he'd written the drafts carefully. In fact, he'd read them over so tediously that they were practically ready to be handed in. If this was just another year at Hogwarts' he wouldn't be in a position to need her bloody help, these things normally came so easily to him. Instead, he'd been expending most of his energy reflecting on the different ways he could kill Dumbledore or the different ways he would be killed.

He was in the middle of going over his essay once more when she swept in, banging the door closed. He glanced up at her and then back down to the parchment.

"I don't think we have much to go over, it's pretty much done." He was met with stony silence. Glancing up again, he found that she was suddenly standing right in front of him, her hands on her hips, her eyes raging.

"Just what the hell is this?" she asked, jutting out her wrist with the gold coin dangling beneath.

"It's a bracelet," Draco replied looking at her like she was rather dim-witted.

"I know what it _is_ , Malfoy! I mean, just what the hell were you thinking? You can imagine my surprise while in the shower the coin became hot and there was a message: _today, not tomorrow_. You can't just send me a bracelet by owl!"

"How else was I supposed to tell you when to meet, march up to the Gryffindor tower and ask to see you?"

"That's another thing, you can't just demand to meet whenever you want—"

"Oh please," he sneered, dismissing it entirely. "Like you have better things to do."

She clasped her hands in front of her face as if in prayer and breathing deeply she regarded him.

"Everyone has been pressing me to tell them who gave me such a beautiful and expensive bracelet. Ron thinks it's a gift from Viktor Krum!"

The corner of Draco's lip lifted as he slumped back into his chair crossing his arms over his chest. "Poor, poor Weasley," he smirked. "Can't even afford new robes let alone a gold bracelet. It must be killing him. I wonder, " he drawled leaning forward. "Does he know you were slagging it with the Bulgarian? Maybe he thinks the bracelet is a form of payment."

Her mouth fell open and it was almost comical until...

"You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!" she shouted, her wand drawn. Draco having anticipated her reaction had his out too, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. As much fun as a duel seemed he thought it would be best avoided.

"Alright then Granger, I'll make this easy for you," he offered, lowering his wand and placing it on the table. He was fairly certain she'd never hex him while he was unarmed. Stretching his arm out, palm open, he said, "Just give it back."

"No," she said without skipping a beat.

His eyes flashed. " _No?_ "

"Think of it as a form of payment," she said with a teasing smile.

Draco's cheeks reddened at the innuendo. She was savouring his discomfort and he didn't like it one bit.

"Then let's sit down and finish the work," he grumbled. "I don't want to have to look at your bushy head any longer than I already have to."

A few minutes later Granger was seated calmly reading over the answer to the essay questions. Draco felt restless waiting for her to finish. Could the witch read any slower?

After what seemed like a long time, she pronounced, "It's perfect!" And she was smiling. "Really, I would hand it in, as is."

He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes dancing over her face, and he didn't know why but it just slipped out.

"So you like the bracelet?"

She glanced away and began arranging the parchments.

"It's like the protean-charmed coins you charmed last year, except I embellished a little," Draco continued. _Stop talking. Stop talking_. "If anyone else tries to take it—"

"I know," she interjected. "Parvati tried. It's impressive magic."

Blushing, Draco realized there was no reason for him to still be sitting in this room with her. He began to gather his things which took him mere seconds and then he was standing up.

"Where do you think you're going?" she said with reproach.

"We're done here, aren't we?"

She flushed, and in a small voice said, "You said you'd teach me the bird charm... you promised."

He blinked. "Oh right... okay."

"Okay," she echoed, sounding surprised and anxious all at once. She stood, taking her wand out of her robes.

He dropped his bag and took out his.

"Watch closely," said Draco. He pointed his wand up and with a murmur so soft he said, " _Avis Luteus,"_ his hand weaving and sweeping.

"The spell is _A-vis Lu-te-us_ ," he repeated.

" _Avis Luteus_ ," she muttered. " _Avis Luteus_. Ok."

She raised her wand and tried to perform the spell. She tried several times but she was still unable to conjure anything.

"It's not working," she huffed in frustration.

"Your wand movement is all wrong. Relax your wrist," he sighed. "No, like this."

He stood behind her and covered her wand hand with his.

"Say the spell," he breathed.

" _Avis Luteus,"_ she whispered while his hand guided hers in a sinuous gesture. Slowly, seemingly out of thin air, sprays of golden-yellow dust appeared, dancing in mid-air, till they clustered together to form the shape of a yellow bird.

"That's it... you have it," whispered Draco. She was watching mesmerized as more birds took shape and began to fly in circles overhead. He was impressed by how quickly she learned the spell.

He swallowed, feeling the heat of her on him. He could smell gardenias in her hair and that's when it hit him...

Releasing her hand, he stepped back. There was a sick knot in his stomach and he tasted bile rise up his throat.

She turned back and beamed at him.


	7. Bitter Disappointments

The last few days had been surreal. Hermione had offered to help Malfoy to satiate her curiosity. She had wanted answers and instead, she'd only been confronted with more questions. He'd taught her the bird charm, and if she were being honest, she never believed he would. She thought she'd receive a sneer or a mock remark but he'd surprised her.

Then she'd succeeded in conjuring them and it was such beautiful, delicate magic that she couldn't help but smile. And it had been a mistake, that smile. It had been a mistake to allow herself to be happy around Draco Malfoy; to gaze at him with absolute joy, and to have him know that he'd given it to her. Because where there was Malfoy there also followed bitter disappointment.

She'd smiled and something flashed in his eyes, something so cruel and cold. Something so frightening. Her smile had faded and for a moment she could swear by the reddening of his eyes that he was about to cry.

 _Not bad for a Mudblood whore._

Then he left.

She had stared at the door long after it had slammed shut behind him. What she felt wasn't anger, it was so much more than that... for once she truly hated him, had wanted to tear at him, slap him, hurt him the way his words had hurt her. When she reflected on her overreaction — because what else could she possibly have expected — those feelings worried her. She'd never cared what he thought or said before, so why start now?

And then there was the bracelet, that was just a bracelet, except it felt, when she wore it, the weight of a secret.

Ron was angry with her without admitting as much. For what reason she could only assume was because he believed it to be a gift from Krum. The truth wouldn't have served her. She didn't know what to do. Ron was barely speaking to her and when he did, it was only to insult her or make a snide remark. Yet, still, his jealousy gave her hope that he had feelings for her, wanted her even. She hated and welcomed it.

Last night Hermione had gotten so upset with Ron, she'd stormed out of the common room on the verge of tears. Curling up in bed, drawing her knees and arms in tight, the bracelet pressed against her chest, she felt a calm energy wash over. After a few minutes of allowing it to comfort her, she began tracing it with her fingers, the chain, the round edge, the smooth coin, over and over. There was a sort of magical signature, like a magnetic attraction and repulsion, she hadn't noticed before.

It was Malfoy's magic...

Hermione fell asleep with it still on and felt it humming near her lips in the morning.

She got ready for the day in a dreamlike state. Had she even slept? Oh no, she thought, as she entered the common room, she'd been so caught up in herself that she'd failed to realize that today was the Quidditch match against Slytherin.

* * *

Urquhart, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team was in the worst mood. Exasperated, with the current situation, he pressed Draco, "You're sure you can't play? Even Vaisey's out! That Bludger he took to the head yesterday still has him in the Hospital Wing."

"I don't decide when to get ill Urquhart," Draco shrugged, sitting at the edge of his bed. "But don't worry, Harper's already agreed to sub."

Glancing back over his shoulder at Harper, who was beginning to get ready for the game against Gryffindor, he said in a low voice, "Between us, I would've preferred to have you play."

"Me too," Draco deadpanned. A grimace adorned his face at the very thought of Potter winning the cup as Quidditch Captain. Urquhart shook his head in disbelief and left muttering something about, of all the luck.

Already in his Quidditch attire, Blaise was leaning again his bedpost with his hands folded, staring intently at him.

"You're seriously not going to play?"

Draco returned his gaze but didn't respond.

"You're letting everyone down," he continued. "We need you, especially with Vaisey—"

"Lay off Blaise," Theo interjected stepping forward between them. "If he says he's not feeling well, he's not feeling well."

"I see how it is with you two," Blaise scowled, his eyes darting between his friends. "I don't have a daddy in Azkaban so I'm being singled out."

"Watch your mouth, Zabini!" growled Draco, standing up. And apparently, he'd stood up too fast because he blinked and there were black spots and he had to hold onto the bedpost to keep from falling.

"For the love of Merlin," Blaise spat. "We'll have to start spoon-feeding you soon."

"Fuck off!" yelled Draco. "Just fuck off!"

Shaking his head in the same manner as Urquhart, Blaise left.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Theo sighed in exasperation. "Come on, let's find you something to eat."

Draco was grateful to Theo. Grateful that he hadn't sided with Blaise, despite knowing he was right; grateful that once he'd walked Draco to the Great Hall and placed some food in front of him, he'd left, instead of watching over him like a hawk.

Sitting alone, he nibbled on a slice of plain toast. Eating had become such a gruelling task; the ashen taste of everything, the forced effort of chewing, the sickening act of swallowing. He dropped the bread and looked at his plate despairingly. Upon hearing footsteps approach, he looked up.

"Pans."

"Hey you," she said sitting down next to him. "I heard you weren't feeling well."

Draco nodded and for once he wasn't exaggerating or faking it. She reached for his hand and he let her take it. He gave her a small smile grateful to have her here. She was looking down at their hands, her thumb softly caressing his skin.

It was only when she looked up did he notice that her eyes were glistening. There was something so sad and resolute about the way she was looking at him. "You know Slughorn is having a Christmas party," she asked softly. "Right?"

"Yeah," he replied slowly. "For the Slug Club..."

She began fiddling with the hem of her robe, her eyes downcast and her black hair falling into her dark eyes. "Blaise asked me to be his date and I said yes."

He looked back down at his unfinished toast. "Blaise?" repeated Draco, as if he'd never heard the name. He felt the warmth from her hand leave his as she let go.

"I know it's not the right time to be doing this, but there never seems to be with you."

Draco felt something stick in his throat. He tried to swallow and it hurt. Pansy was leaving him. He swallowed again and his eyes burned. Pansy, who had always coddled him, who looked up to him, consoled him, kissed him, touched him… loved him entirely. She was leaving. He couldn't breathe. He closed his eyes. Inhale. Count to three. Exhale. When he opened them again she was wiping tears from her cheeks. He knew there was nothing he could say.

She stood to leave.

"Hermione Granger's going too," she said softly, giving him a wet smile. "Maybe… maybe I'll lend her my gold dress to match her new bracelet."

Draco watched her walk away.

He hadn't any energy left in him. Not even enough to make up a lie.


	8. Filthy

Hermione was lingering outside the Gryffindor changing rooms in a state of agitation. She loved Harry and Ron, she understood how much Quidditch meant to them and the strong rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin but, she just couldn't let this go. What Harry had done had been illegal! She waited till the rest of the team had left to enter the changing rooms. She was so nervous that she couldn't stop pulling at the wool of her scarf.

"I want a word with you, Harry," said Hermione taking a deep breath. "You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, its illegal."

Before she could say more, Ron was attacking her, daring her to turn them in, when, to their utter shock, Harry revealed that he'd only pretended to slip Felix Felicis into Ron's pumpkin juice. Why on earth would Harry trick her like that? She understood why he'd tricked Ron, but—

 _"You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything!"_ Ron rounded on her in mock imitation. "See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!"

"I never said you couldn't," she tried to explain. "Ron, you thought you'd been given it too!"

But he was already striding past her out the door with his broomstick over his shoulder.

Hermione was too upset to join Harry when he suggested she come with him to celebrate their victory in the common room. She found herself wandering the castle aimlessly, trying to understand what egregious error she'd committed. Deciding that she really ought to just make peace with him instead of roaming the corridors like Nearly Headless Nick, she made her way to Gryffindor Tower.

Upon entering the common room, it seemed as if everyone was caught in a victorious rapture. She smiled as she watched a desperate Harry succeed in escaping the clutches of Romilda Vane. Then she spotted Ginny, which wasn't at all difficult considering her flaming red hair and the way she carried Arnold, the Pygmy Puff on her shoulder. She began to make her way through the riotous crowd but stopped short when she realized they were both staring at something. She followed the direction of their gaze to find Ron in a lip lock with Lavender Brown. Her blood froze, a wave of nausea caused her stomach to twist and she thought she might be sick. He had her wrapped around him so tightly and his hands were…

She ran out of the common room as fast as she could.

Entering an empty classroom nearby she sat down. She had to do something—anything to distract her from what she'd just witnessed. She feared she'd fall apart. Taking out her wand from her robes with a trembling hand she cast the Avis charm. A flock of little yellow birds appeared and as Hermione stared at them circling above her head she was overcome with a pang of crushing sadness. Ron had overlooked her, _again_. He'd hurt her, _again_. Hadn't she made her feelings for him obvious? She had even invited him to Slughorn's Christmas Party and he'd said yes. Was it her, was it her fault?

Malfoy's words floated back to her.

 _Slagging it with the Bulgarian —_ _Mudblood whore._

Had she really been so wrong as to accept Krum's invitation to as something simple as a dance? Was Ron really that jealous, or was he merely looking for an excuse to do what he liked with Lavender Brown?

She imagined how he'd react if she told him the truth, that the bracelet was actually from Malfoy. Part of her wanted to explain that it had all been quite innocent— it was just a bracelet. It meant nothing... didn't it?

The birds flew twittered above, gently swooping around the room.

No, she admitted. It meant something. She just didn't know what. Her time with Malfoy had only left her with more questions.

Suddenly the door jerked open.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said in a brittle voice. "I was just practising."

"Yeah… they're, er—"

"Harry," muttered Hermione in a rush. "Why doesn't Ron want me?"

Harry's eyes widened. Hearing the question out loud sounded far worse than the way it had in her head and she blushed a little at its bluntness.

"I- I'm not sure," he stumbled. "How do you know he doesn't?"

"He's had so many chances and he's never even—"

At that very moment, the door behind them burst open and there was Ron in tow with none other than Lavender Brown.

"Oh," he said, drawing up short at the sight of them. Hermione slid off the desk just as Lavender backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The sick feeling was back and it was rising like bile up her throat. She couldn't stand looking at him.

"You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside," she said quietly, walking toward the door. "She'll wonder where you've gone."

Then as she reached the door she was overcome with a woeful fury.

"Oppugno!" She shrieked. The little flock of birds sped down on him like a hail of golden bullets and she revelled in the sight of them pecking and clawing every bit of flesh they could reach.

Wrenching the door open, she ran out into the dark, toward the astronomy tower. Tears streaked down her face as she made her way blindly through the castle.

Some time later Hermione found herself trudging up the dark spiral stairs to the Astronomy Tower, her cheeks blotchy and wet from crying. As she was reaching the door which led to the landing, it swung open.

Her breath hitched.

Malfoy stiffened as he saw her. She thought the moonlight made him look deathly pale.

They stared at one another and those mere seconds felt like hours. Then she remembered the last words he'd said to her.

 _Not bad for a Mudblood whore._

She tore her eyes away and pressed her body against one side of the stairway to let him pass.

He blinked. Wordlessly descending.

She began walking up, brushing past him when suddenly he stuck his arm out to block her path.

"Wait..."

He seemed hesitant, unwilling. But she didn't want to wait, not while he was this close. Not while he was this warm. Then he said something that made her blood run cold.

"I need it back."

At first, she hadn't understood what he meant until she'd realized he was looking at her wrist, at the bracelet.

No, he can't, she thought, snatching her hand from the railing and tucking her arms into her chest. _He can't just give me something and then take it back._

Malfoy stepped into her, his body unmoving against hers. "I'm not asking."

Hermione looked into eyes, and found herself peering into storm clouds. His breath fell on her with every exhale.

She didn't know what possessed her to say it, but she did.

"Over my dead body Malfoy." And she wondered if he'd draw his wand.

His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. "Why do you even want it?" he rasped.

It was the last thing she'd expected him to say, not even a question she'd asked herself. Her mouth went dry as his eyes appraised her, dancing over her face. For the first time she wondered what she looked like. She imagined she looked a mess.

"I don't know," Hermione choked, her eyes brimming with new tears. "I don't…"

"Fine!" she snapped, her hand shaking trying to unclasp the bracelet and failing. It was delicate and impossible to remove.

He grabbed her wrist. "Stop... stop crying."

Except Hermione hadn't realized she was. She began to tremble. His fingers had slackened, his hold now gentle. He was stroking her pulse point with his thumb, brushing goosebumps all the way up her arm with the slightest stroke of skin. Then they were tracing up her forearm, up to her collarbone.

Her eyes remained downcast, paralysed by what he was doing, by the way, he touched her. She thought if he'd continued she'd throw up her heart.

"You really are filthy," he whispered, his thumb wiping away a tear.

She dared to look up then and meet his gaze, terrified all the while.

It broke the spell.

His eyelids fluttered as if coming out of a deep reverie and his hand fell awkwardly to his side.

Hermione only started to breathe again when he'd reached the bottom landing.


	9. Thank you Hermione Granger

Blaise was sitting in the dark, by the low light of the ﬁreplace in the Slytherin common room. He had a glass of Crabbe's muggle alcohol in hand. It was disgusting stuff but he needed to take the edge off the hellish day he'd had. It was past curfew and Draco still hadn't returned to the dungeons. Blaise had refused Theo's offer to wait up with him. He could tell that his friend was worried about how Draco would react to the news of him and Pansy. He was a little worried too but this was a confrontation he needed to have without Nott. He looked at the clock again, it was half an hour to midnight. He drained his third glass. Where the—?

It was then that he heard the stone wall shift.

Draco emerged through.

Blaise wanted to ask where he'd been but knew better than to question his friend these days. Gone was the boastful and arrogant wizard and in his place was this other Draco, a quiet shadow of the former. The blonde stopped short when he saw that not everyone had gone to sleep.

"Draco, I've been waiting."

"For what?" he asked as though he hadn't a clue.

"Pansy told me she spoke to you," he sighed.

"And?"

"We should talk, don't you think?

"Not necessary," he clipped trying to walk past him.

Blaise took hold of Draco's shoulder. "Look I know I should have told you, Draco… but sometimes — because of the way I am, because of the way you are — I forget we're actually friends — apologies —I think I'm a little inebriated, but, you understand, don't you? I had to chance it."

"Zabini, really—"

"You and Pans have always had this thing," he barrelled on in a rush to get everything off his chest. "So I buried it... but after a while, I just couldn't pretend it wasn't there anymore. There's only so much a person can fake." At that Draco's eyes snapped to his and he almost seemed a little fearful.

"Malfoy, you alright?"

"Yeah…" he murmured, though he sounded defeated.

Blaise's shoulders sagged in relief.

"So we're good?"

Malfoy gave him a curt nod and that was good enough for Blaise. He smiled drunkenly, patting his friend on the back. "Alright, well I'm off to bed."

He was walking, or perhaps he was swaying, toward the boy's dormitory when suddenly Draco called to him.

"When did you stop pretending?"

He turned around and shrugged.

"Suppose when it started to hurt." Then he bit out a sharp laugh. "I have a feeling I'll have a headache tomorrow…. Night." He saluted Draco, who for some reason looked to be a little on the glum side.

That, he thought to himself, as he crawled into bed, went swimmingly. Good bloke that Malfoy.

He fell into a deep sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Draco was in the library reading up on Vanishing Cabinets yet again. His desperation was beginning to mount. He was re-reading a passage from a certain book hoping he'd missed something when he caught a glimpse of Granger between the shelves. To anyone else, he looked to be browsing for a book but his feet were moving him, like a wizard possessed, toward her. Maybe he could just— the table she was seated at came into full view and he grimaced as he saw that Potter was sitting next to her whispering something into her ear. He bit the inside of his cheek wondering what sweet nothings he was cooing into her ear. _You're the best in our year. Smartest witch of our age._ Ugh. Revolting. He walked over quietly to a stack of shelves behind them and edged closer trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. He would wait till Saint Potter left and then—

"Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Vane looked like she meant business," he heard Granger warn Potter. Draco frowned. Romilda Vane was after Potter with a love potion? Was there no female in Hogwarts that wasn't after him? There was the sound of a quill scratching against parchment. He bit his lip willing his feet to be quiet as he moved right behind them and continued to listen.

"Yeah, well, never mind that," Potter was saying. "The point is, Filch is being fooled, isn't he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn't Malfoy have brought the necklace into the school—?"

"Oh, Harry… not that again…"

Draco clenched his jaw. Potter suspected him. Of course, Potter suspected him. He had opened his big fat stupid mouth on the train. Might as well have put it in the Daily Prophet — wait, what was Granger saying?

"…something's that's just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn't register. Anyway Love potions aren't dark or dangerous so it would be down to Filch to realize it wasn't a cough potion, and he's not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from—"

 _Fuck!_

Drawn to the conversation he had inadvertently stepped forward and made a noise. Draco backed away and quickly made his way out of the library because he had just been given a marvellous idea.

Poison! He could smuggle in poison.

 _Thank you, Hermione Granger._

* * *

Inviting Cormac McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party had been a terrible mistake. Hermione's thirst for vengeance had come at a dear price, or more speciﬁcally a snog. Kissing a dementor would've been more enjoyable. Thankfully she'd managed to escape and found Harry and Luna. Harry had been whizzed away by Slughorn and she was left sipping on her goblet, listening to Luna, who was telling her all about Rufus Scrimgeour being a vampire. Holding her tongue back she nodded along feigning interest.

She was at breaking point when she heard someone clear their voice from behind her.

"Hello Pansy," Luna grinned. "What a beautiful dress."

Parkinson's cool façade faltered for a moment.

"T-thank you," she stuttered.

Hermione gave her an uneasy smile, weary of the way the other girl was looking at her. "You both look…" she paused searching for a word. "Nice."

Looking up at the fairy lights, Luna remarked, "I saw you with Blaise Zabini."

"Yes," she blushed. "He invited me."

Hermione's brow furrowed. She had thought Pansy and Malfoy—

"He's a very handsome wizard isn't he?" Luna said dreamily. Hermione, who was still a little stunned to be within earshot of Pansy Parkinson without being insulted, could only nod in agreement. So this is what it felt like to remain civil.

"I think so," the Slytherin girl replied with smug pride as though she alone were responsible for Blaise's good looks.

Hermione took a large gulp of her mead, looking around the room hoping for something or someone to intervene.

"Granger, that's a lovely bracelet you're wearing."

She practically startled.

Luna grinned. "A token of affection from Victor Krum, I believe... although I do think—"

"Victor Krum?" Pansy clipped. "Really, it's funny because I don't recognize the coin charm, but the gold chain, well it looks identical to the love bracelet Narcissa Malfoy wears. It's crafted using the golden hairs from a unicorn foal."

Hermione stopped breathing. Her mouth had fallen open and she fought to compose herself.

"Cost a fortune, I imagine," continued Pansy.

"That's fascinating!" Luna mused, completely oblivious to the real conversation taking place between the two of them.

The dark-haired girl, looking pointedly at Hermione over the rim of her goblet, hummed. "Isn't it?"

"I wonder if you could do something similar using Thestral hairs," Luna said in wonderment. "Although you'd have to be able to see them ﬁrst…"

Pansy frowned at the bizarre suggestion. "Well, I better get back to Blaise," she said with a tight smile, giving Hermione one last long look before disappearing into the throng of people.

Luna was still speaking but Hermione couldn't hear her. Her mind was racing. The air in the room was stiﬂing.

It hadn't been a gift. It was just something he had sent her to be able to communicate with her without anyone else knowing. Probably so no one would ﬁnd out he was getting help from a _Mudblood_. It was just to tell her he'd have to meet her on a different day to ﬁnish the Transﬁguration essay. Then she'd kept it without giving it back. He'd even asked for it back and she'd refused. Although there was that moment in the dark stairway of the Astronomy Tower where he'd... No! No, no, no. Draco Malfoy wouldn't give her a love bracelet, he hated her and he'd demonstrated his hatred openly and consistently.

She excused herself and then went after Parkinson. She couldn't have her thinking what she was currently thinking.

"Wait," she said catching hold of the Slytherin girl near the drinks table. "I think there's been a real, big, mix- up."

"Oh?" she asked amusedly as Hermione sidled close to whisper.

"Yes, well you see," Hermione began rambling, "it's actually, well, what happened was, there was this owl and well he only wanted to let me know that— um — Malfoy doesn't love me." Pansy was wearing a blank expression on her face, the polite and calm demeanour she'd been exuding minutes before was gone. Hermione hadn't meant to blurt it out like that but she was in such a ﬂuster. "Really, he—"

"It may not be love, but it's just as dangerous."

Hermione found she'd gone mute.

"You'll ruin him," muttered Pansy walking off. _"You'll ruin him."_


	10. Tergeo

As a child, Draco loved Christmas; the snow, the food, the gifts, the merriment within the walls of the castle. But this year he was numb to the season. He took no joy in seeing the large decorated trees, nor the ﬂoating candlelights, or the holly and tinsel and mistletoe. These things, to him, were cold hands clutching at the heart of another life.

He had listed his latest achievements: he'd imperiused an innocent woman, he'd tried to kill a very old man, he had almost killed a young girl and just in the last twenty-four hours had decided to try his luck with poison.

Meanwhile, his father was sitting in a cell in Azkaban while his mother was alone, hostage, to the Dark Lord.

The sounds of raucous laughter and music echoed throughout the corridors of Hogwarts. Draco could hear the festivities as he was making his way toward the Room of Requirement, propelled there by his nightmares and by the Dark Mark, which had begun to burn.

He had left the Slytherin common room a little while after Blaise and Pansy had left for Slughorn's party. Theo, who was with the Greengrass sisters, was in the middle of a rather vicious tournament of exploding snap where the loser had to take a drink of Firewhiskey. It was easy for Draco to slip out unnoticed. The only problem was that Crabbe and Goyle had been given detention tonight. He wasn't particularly worried about needing them though, he ﬁgured everyone would be busy at the party.

He was wrong.

"Oh dear," smiled Argus Filch with wicked glee. "We are in trouble."

"I was just on my way to Slughorn's Christmas party," he lied quickly.

Grinning, he tugged roughly on Draco's ear. "Let me escort you then."

"Let go of me squib!" he yelled, knowing the game was up. Much to Draco's embarrassment, he was dragged to the party and outed in front of all the other guests, including Snape.

"All right, I wasn't invited!" admitted Draco, pulling himself free of Filch's grip. He was furious with the damn squib for having caught him. "I was trying to gate crash," he lied. "Happy?"

"No, I'm not!" said Filch, who was, in fact, looking extremely pleased with himself. Draco saw the caretaker's face fall when Slughorn, who had gotten into the Christmas spirit —or perhaps the Christmas wine — waved it all off and said he could stay.

 _Brilliant, just bloody brilliant._

"Thank you, Professor," smiled Draco with as much feeling as he could fake. _I don't want to be here_ , he thought. _I have to get back to the cabinet!_

"It's nothing, nothing," Slughorn said waving away his thanks. "I did know your grandfather, after all…"

As Draco was replying, he spotted, from the far corner of his eye, Pansy, and — "He always spoke very highly of you, sir—" Was that Granger she was speaking to? "— said you were the best potion-maker he'd ever known."

He saw Pansy stride off. Granger looked faint.

 _Fuck._

"I'd like a word with you, Draco," Snape said suddenly.

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

He followed Snape out wordlessly, ignoring the swelling ache spreading through his left forearm.

He didn't know how much more he could take...

* * *

Hermione watched Pansy walk away. Slughorn's ofﬁce was beginning to feel small and suffocating. She ran outside unable to think with all the fairy lights and noise. Her Gryfﬁndor bravery was failing her and she couldn't face going back inside. She was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming need to speak to Draco Malfoy if only to hear the word Mudblood spat disdainfully from his lips.

She thought about sending him a message, asking him to meet her using the Protean-charmed coin on her bracelet but then put that idea aside for a better one.

As she walked through the portrait of the Fat Lady, she cast a disillusionment charm on herself. Opening the door to the boy's dormitory without any repercussions, she was thankful that they didn't have the same spells placed on theirs.

Everyone seemed to either be at the party or fast asleep. She tip-toed to Harry's trunk where he kept the Marauders Map. _Accio Marauders Map._ The map ﬂew into her hand. She tucked it under her arm and left in a hurry. It's not as if Harry would miss it.

Besides she'd return it tomorrow...

Stepping out into the corridor she held her wand to it.

 _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._

Oh, how true that statement was right now. She searched for Malfoy.

That's odd. She assumed she'd ﬁnd him in the Slytherin common room but he was in the boy's bathroom.

 _Mischief managed._

As she neared the door to the bathroom, she decided it'd be best to remove the disillusionment charm. She didn't want to get hexed by a startled Slytherin.

Hermione took a steadying breath. _I'm not afraid_ , she told herself. _I'm not afraid_.

To her surprise, the door was left slightly ajar. As she pushed it open Hermione found Malfoy huddled up on the ﬂoor, his back against the bathroom wall with his head in his hands, crying.

Moaning Myrtle, who was ﬂoating near him, saw her ﬁrst. "Something's wrong, but he won't tell me," she whined.

His head snapped up, his wand drawn pointing straight at Hermione. She instinctively stepped back and raised her hands as if he were holding a loaded gun.

Draco sniffed, his eyes red and his cheeks wet. He didn't look threatening, he looked pathetic.

She slowly lowered her arms.

Despite all the horrible things he'd said to her, she couldn't help but pity him. She thought back to what she'd heard Dumbledore say to Mrs Weasley. She supposed it _was_ easier to forgive others for being wrong and Malfoy was wrong. Everything about him was wrong — now, more than ever.

"Myrtle, is it alright if you give us a little space?" asked Hermione in a quiet whisper that made the ghost leave without so much as a wail.

She stepped forward and knelt down in front of him. The tip of his wand almost touching the tip of her nose. Draco was watching her movements fearfully. She raised her hand and gently lowered his wand to the ground.

He allowed it.

"Draco," she whispered. "What's wrong—?" Hermione's words died on her lips. The left sleeve of his white shirt was splotched with blood. She knew, without asking, without needing to wonder, in her gut, what it was. His eyes followed her gaze and rested there, letting the truth lie between them.

Harry had been right all along...

Hermione pursed her lips and put her hand in her robes to take out her wand. Draco ﬂinched and had his pointing at her again. She visibly swallowed, retracting her hand from the warm folds with slow movements.

Pointing to his sleeve she cast a cleansing spell.

" _Tergeo_."

Draco blinked watching the blood disappear.

Then he was crying again, a slow trail of tears.

She moved to sit next to him, leaving a space between them. She didn't know how much time passed just sitting there. After a while he wiped his face quickly, evidently embarrassed, and Hermione couldn't imagine how in the middle of all of this he could be worried about how he looked. Then he stood up and offered his hand to her. She took it without hesitation.

They walked back in complete silence and she was frightfully aware that they were still holding hands. It was strange but she was scared to let go. Then they came to a crossroads. She needed to go up to the Tower and he needed to go down to the dungeons. Neither able to follow the other.

She watched as he took her wrist, the one wrapped in thin gold chain and brushed his lips against it. He raised his eyes and his grey-blue irises bore into hers.

"Goodnight Hermione," he said.

"Goodnight Draco."


	11. Check-in at Azkaban

Since the return of the Dark Lord and the departure of the dementors from Azkaban, security measures had doubled and wards were strengthened two-fold. So when Narcissa Malfoy went to visit her husband, which she was allowed to do by law, once a month, she was forced to undergo a series of tedious screenings: a short interview under Veritaserum, scans for dark magic, a body check—entirely demeaning of her person—and an inspection and temporary conﬁscation of her wand.

As she waited for Lucius in the dingy room she wondered how he would react to the missing galleons from their Gringott's vault and what he'd do when he learned how it was spent. Looking around the small space, she couldn't help but cringe. What crude furnishings, she thought, how hard could it be to decorate for Merlin's sake. _I don't see why visitors should be tormented as well._ The door to the room clicked opened and her poor frail husband was escorted in by a guard.

"You have twenty minutes," he said.

Narcissa watched the door close behind them with a heavy thud and threw herself at Lucius with less poise than she usually had. He slowly disentangled himself and pulled out a chair for her on the opposite side of the table.

"Cissa," he greeted, offering his open palm to her. She placed her hand in his squeezing hard. It broke her heart to see him like this. So _ungroomed_. He really must be suffering. She'd rarely ever seen Lucius without a clean shave, except for when they summered in the Caribbean Islands before Draco was born. That had been a strange time.

She tried to smile but found she couldn't. "I look dreadful, I know."

"You are as handsome as the day I ﬁrst met you," she whispered. He took her other hand in his and kissed them both in a loving gesture. Her eyes stung. She had never cried in front of Lucius and she wasn't going to start now. She let go, clearing her throat and adjusted herself on the metal contraption they considered a seat. "I have something important to discuss with you. It concerns our son."

"Oh."

"I just recently discovered a small, yet considerable sum missing from the Gringotts vault and I checked with—"

"I authorized the withdrawal."

Narcissa was surprised. "Whatever for?"

"Draco said it was imperative that the Slytherin Quidditch team have new broomsticks."

" _Broomsticks?"_ she asked disbelievingly. So Draco had lied to his father about why he wanted the money. Well, this wouldn't end well.

 _"_ Yes, apparently there's a new model out."

 _"_ I can assure you that what your son purchased had nothing to do with his love for Quidditch or his team. He custom ordered a bracelet from Laurel & Moons," said Narcissa curtly. "Almost identical to the one you bought me. Laurel herself conﬁrmed this."

Her husband looked sheepish.

"Hmmm... I suppose he's ﬁnally making his intentions with the Parkinson's daughter clear."

"If I didn't know any better I would say you aren't altogether surprised. Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, I am not one of your ministry toads who you can slither around!"

"Alright, alright!" he conceded. "I did give Draco the money. How could I say no, what father would I be to deny him something I could give him when I have failed him so miserably…"

"How could you think he wanted broomsticks, at a time like this, with everything he's had to take on?"

"I had a feeling he was lying, I thought he wanted it for _nefarious reasons_ , but I didn't believe it would be for jewelry, for Merlin's sake! It was only much later that Mr. Moons wrote me to say that while he was happy to craft the bracelet, as a ﬁnal thank you for our long-standing patronage, he will no longer be able to offer his services to us."

Her face fell. "Mr. Moons said that, really?"

"It is fair, in light of everything…"

But we're all old friends, she thought sadly looking at the rusty table. We attended the opening of Laurel & Moons, Laurel used to bring Cauldron Cakes for tea…

"Cissa..."

"They were at our wedding," she whispered sadly.

"You will never know how sorry I am."

"Well, you'll be sorrier when you hear who I believe Draco gave the bracelet to—"

"I know," he frowned. "Must be that Mudblood girl who's always with Potter and the Weasley's."

"H-how did you… how could you let something like this happen?"

"I thought it was merely a passing curiosity, how was I to know—"

"You did this!"

"How dare you hold me responsible!"

" _I don't understand how you could be outdone by a Mudblood,"_ she imitated. _"Potter's girl seems to best you at everything, shame you didn't get an Outstanding in Charms like the Mudblood—_ "

"Alright, alright!" her husband interrupted. Taking a deep breath, he continued calmly, "Draco knows this type of behavior will not be tolerated. I will put my foot down. No means no and that's ﬁnal."

"This is not like the time he wanted a unicorn because the Zabini boy had gotten a Puffskein!"

"I don't know why you're even worried about this Cissa," Lucius suddenly laughed, smiling happily. Perhaps Azkaban was driving him mad. "That girl is in love with Potter. It's disgustingly obvious! You can practically see the stardust in her eyes. Nothing will come of this _ﬁxation_."

"Fixation? You said passing curiosity. When did you even realize?"

Taking his hands into hers again he replied, "I caught him watching her read in Flourish and Blotts once, but, don't worry, she's in love with Arthur Weasley's son—"

"You just said—!"

"It-it could be either," he spluttered. "It's difﬁcult to tell with the way they all carry on."

"I hope you're right... if the Dark Lord ﬁnds out—"

"Trust me," said Lucius in a conﬁdent, all-knowing tone. "We have absolutely no reason to concern ourselves with Hermione Granger."

* * *

Hermione Granger couldn't stop thinking about Draco Malfoy.

She couldn't stop thinking that she should really be turning him into Dumbledore, or Harry, or the Order. Nor could she stop thinking about his hands. They were so much bigger than hers and when did he get so...

"What are you still doing in bed?" asked Ginny pulling the bed curtain aside.

"Nothing."

Her friend was looking at her curiously, "You better hurry up or you'll be late."

"For what?"

Now the redhead was looking at her like she was completely bonkers.

"To go home? Christmas holidays, remember?"

"Oh," said Hermione in a dreamy voice. "Right."

Ginny rolled her eyes wondering if perhaps her friend had too much mead at Slughorn's party last night.

Instead of getting up, Hermione just rolled over onto her other side. She had barely been able to sleep, running the tumultuous events over and over again in her mind. Maybe she should say something to him, but what could she say?

Good morning — no— hey, how was — no, she sighed, that was stupid…

"Oh, I know!" she exclaimed out loud. Taking hold of the coin she began writing a message. She bit her lip smiling at her own cleverness. Then she stared at the coin waiting for a reply. Nothing was happening. Well, he probably didn't have his with him at the moment. Getting out of bed she showered, dressed and made her way with her bag to the Great Hall even though there wasn't much time left to have a proper breakfast. Everyone was there, including Won-Won.

Sighing, she sat down next to Harry who, she was beginning to realize, would strategically place himself away from Ron's snogging and closer to Ginny. Whenever Hermione saw the two lovebirds she would diligently ignore them and today wasn't going to be any different. Plus, she was in high spirits knowing she'd be with her parents for a few days and she wouldn't let Ron ruin that. After a few minutes, she was wishing everyone goodbye and a Merry Christmas. When she was hugging Harry, he whispered that he had something important to tell her when they all got back to Hogwarts. She didn't pay much mind to him though, because just then her wrist ﬂashed hot and her mind went back to the blonde-haired boy who'd kissed it last night.


	12. Unraveling

Thanks for everyone's support, it's much appreciated.

* * *

There was no natural sunlight in the dungeons where the Slytherin boy's dormitory was, so when Draco woke up he could scarcely tell how long he'd slept in. Pulling the bed curtain aside he found the room completely empty. He laid back down wondering why he even bothered to get up. He wasn't leaving Hogwarts; he couldn't go back home until either he or Dumbledore, were dead. He would be alone for Christmas and for New Years, which at this point he didn't really mind, except his mother would be alone and he couldn't stand the thought of that.

Then his mind went to Granger, who would have probably left by now. Granger who had discovered him crying, who he was ninety-nine percent sure knew that he had taken the Dark Mark, whose hand he had held. He covered his face with a pillow and considered asphyxiating himself. He wasn't sure which was worse, the crying, her knowing he was a Death Eater or the wrist kiss. He groaned into the pillow.

At least now it didn't matter, she'd tell Potter, or Dumbledore, or everyone. Oh Merlin, would she tell them about the kiss and the crying or would she leave those parts out? Well, he would just wait in bed till someone came to put him out of his misery, probably Potter or Weasley. Stupid Mudblood, she ruins everything. She's a ruiner. She's… she smells nice. Then Draco spent some time wondering whether it was her shampoo, perfume or if it was just the scent of her skin. He wondered if she smelt the same everywhere.

He rubbed his face vigorously. What the hell was he doing lying there thinking about what Hermione Granger smells like! He needed to stop her, he needed to — to — to do _something!_ He couldn't just sit next to his father in Azkaban while his mother suffered the consequences of his failure. He swung his legs off the bed and walked over to his open trunk. While rummaging through, trying to ﬁnd the protean-charmed coin, he tried thinking of different ways to shut her up. But what could he possibly say to dissuade her? He couldn't think of a single reason, at least no sane reason. He'd just have to… have to… to kidnap her. Yes! Just until this was all over. Yes, kidnap her, get her alone somewhere, grab her, blindfold her, take her somewhere isolated where no one can hear her scream, lock her up in a room, tie her to the bed… his mind went a little quiet. He mentally slapped himself.

 _Can't kidnap her_ , he thought. _She'll hex me, besides Potter and Weasley will go nuts, not to mention the girl-Weasley. Bat-bogey hex? No, thank you._

Finally, he saw the coin peeking out between the folds of his robes. As he picked it up, the surface shimmered and words began to appear: Library, Disappearing Isles of Bryn, 0920.

He frowned.

She'd messaged him which meant she was up to something, but he couldn't figure out what.

He re-read the words. He'd never heard of the Isles of Bryn, but he assumed it was a book in the library.

 _A book,_ he wrote.

He received a reply almost instantly. _Yes, at 0920._

What was 0920? Oh, the time! Little swot, speaking in riddles. He checked the clock on the wall and realized he was already late. But — was it possible that she was trying to lure him there with a band of Aurors laying in wait? Pulling a shirt over his head he decided to go ﬁnd out.

Entering the library, it hit him just how deserted the castle really was during the Christmas holidays. There wasn't a soul to be seen, except Madam Pince who was always there. He reluctantly approached her to ask after the book. She gave him a distrustful look before pointing to the back of the library.

"Last shelf on the last aisle to the left, under lost things."

Furrowing his brow, he made his way over. Where was this book, the last aisle on the left... "Bout time!" Granger exclaimed, startling him. "Where were you?"

"Slow morning," replied Draco. He was feeling a little awkward sneaking around in the back aisles of the library with her in broad daylight. It would've been easier on his nerves if there were Aurors. Why was she here, did this mean she would be staying at Hogwarts over Christmas as well? "I thought… weren't you going home?"

"I am, I only have a few minutes."

Oh...

She was staring at him and he didn't know what to say, not after last night. Should he be begging her not to tell anyone? Maybe she didn't even know, maybe she thought he'd injured himself and was being a big cry baby about it — that was possible.

"Aren't you?" she asked with a small smile. "You always do."

"Not this year," he replied.

He could tell by her worried expression that she didn't like that answer.

"Well," Granger huffed opening her bag. "I wanted to give you something before I left —" What, a prison sentence? "—I think you should read it."

Draco couldn't believe it. Hermione Granger wasn't turning him in, she was giving him homework. He took the book and examined it.

"The Picture of Dorian Gray," he murmured reading the cover. He hadn't heard of the title or the author before, it must've been... "A muggle book."

"Yes," she replied with her chin raised. "Yes, it is."

He clenched his jaw angrily. "No. I'm not reading this."

"Yes, you are." She pushed the book to his chest, her ﬁngers on his. "Consider it a Christmas gift." They were staring each other down. Draco felt like he was caught in some kind of game with her but he didn't know the rules. He studied her pursed lips, the colour on her cheeks, her eyes set in a deadlock and he was furious — not with her but with himself. He'd been letting things fall through the cracks. Letting _her_ fall through the cracks.

"I said no," he gritted placing the book on the shelf.

She seemed to deﬂate, her shoulders sagging and he thought for a moment he'd won. But then she was looking at him with her big brown almond eyes and saying, "You could do the right thing Malfoy. It doesn't have to be this way."

There was a rising panic within Draco threatening to unravel him as he gazed at her incredulously. He hated how she spoke as if she seemed to know everything, hated the way she felt safe enough to ask him, hated the way she made it sound so simple. There was no 'right thing'. No right and wrong. There was surviving. There was his family. There was don't-get-eaten-by-a-fucking-snake. She was trying to kill him. Ruiner, she ruins things.

Gripping her arms in a tight vice he pushed her into the bookshelf. "Don't you ever get tired of being so fucking virtuous all the time?" he hissed. "That's the thing about you, you prance around thinking you're so smart, so brave, so much better than the rest of us, Hermione-Fucking-Granger, Gryfﬁndor's little angel, Brightest Witch of Her Age, Saint Potter's pet! But in truth… you're beneath me, you'll always be beneath me. A Dirty. Filthy. Mudblood."

And he was panting over her, his breath hot and heavy. Hermione had held his stare throughout his tirade without some much as a flinch.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and his gaze followed the movement. He waited for retribution, a hex, an outcry of indignation but when she spoke it was calm and calculated.

"Careful Draco—" His name seemed to roll off her tongue as if it were familiar to her. "Keep cornering me like this and claiming how ﬁlthy I am beneath you, well, people might start getting ideas."

Then she yanked her arms out of his grip and stomped off.

He was dumbstruck, the book forgotten.

Feeling a little lightheaded, he walked back to the dungeons in a sort of daze. He was tired, he reasoned. He just needed to sleep, he felt like he hadn't slept in months. When he finally slid into bed and closed his eyes though, all he could do was turn and twist under the sheets, painfully aware of how aroused he was by the mere thought of having Granger naked, ﬁlthy and under him.

And he could say it had all began when he showed her the conjuring charm, or when Theo had made that comment over summer, or the way Pansy had berated him Fourth-year but it had started far earlier than all of that.

It had been Third-year when she'd slapped him, or more accurately, after that. He remembered how angry he'd been, how obsessed he was with getting his revenge. He'd swore to Crabbe and Goyle there'd be retribution, he'd get her alone and make her pay… but he'd bide his time, he'd be smart, patient — and he had been. He'd followed her to the library and waited for her to disappear into the labyrinth of shelves. Silly little witch liked studying in remote little corners.

There was something so exciting about ﬁnally catching the Mudblood alone. He could feel his entire body vibrate. Quietly rounding the corner, he saw her. She couldn't see him though. Her back was to him and she was kneeling down on all fours. Her wand had fallen through the thin gap between two adjoining tables. Her hips swayed back and forth trying to reach for it. Then her bum dipped and came up again and he had his wand clenched so tightly in his hand he thought it would break.

This was the image that conquered him, that had his hand reach for his hard length. He groaned because it'd been so long since he'd had an erection, and so long since he'd allowed himself to think of that day in the library when he'd walked away from Hermione Granger still reaching for her wand on all fours.

Except now she was naked and he could hear his name fall from her parted lips.

And every inch of her, like being buried in soft earth and gardenias.


	13. Chess Club

Two days before Theodore Nott's tenth Christmas, his father had presented him with his first chess set. It was meant to be given to him on Christmas day but his mother's health was failing and as a child, his father believed it would do well to distract him from the truth. He absolutely loved it. The board was made entirely of black and white marble and the pieces were crafted in white and green jade stone. His father had proudly declared that he'd picked the set with the green jade because he just knew his son would be sorted into Slytherin, but his mother gave a weak laugh and said his father had picked it claiming green was a Christmas colour.

Theo remembered how he had spent hours playing chess by himself. The pieces were enchanted so that he could play without needing an opponent. He still had this chess set. It was probably the most beautiful gift he'd ever receive from his father, for the next day his mother would pass away and his father would become like Theo's beloved white King, a cold, colourless unyielding man. Theo had run into his parent's room, where she spent most of her time resting, to tell her he'd just won his tenth game. He would become the greatest wizard's chess champion! His smile faded upon entering. She was lying in bed, her eyes half-lidded, a sheen of perspiration on her face. She reached her arm out and told him to hold her hand, just until she fell asleep. So he did, and he watched his mother die with a small smile gracing her lips and her eyes only leaving his when they gently closed.

His father sent him to stay with the Malfoys that night while he made funeral arrangements. He hadn't known what to do with his son now that he had no wife. Theo's presence at Malfoy Manor was haunting. While he had always been a quiet child, now he was mute. Draco wouldn't have any of that. Nothing was going to ruin Christmas. Nothing. Christmas was, after all, the best holiday ever. Whenever his mother and father weren't around he'd talk to Theo as if nothing had happened and when Theo wouldn't respond, he'd go on as if he had. Christmas day came and went and his father still hadn't taken Theo home. Instead, he'd sent Theo the chess set. Narcissa and Lucius had bought him a remembrall which they gave to him with a sad smile. Draco had insisted they play a chess game despite not having known how to play. It forced Theo to teach him. He'd slaughtered Draco almost immediately but the little blonde-haired boy was in such high spirits because his friend was speaking again.

It would soon be seven years since his mother had died. He'd gotten up early, said a quick goodbye to everyone who was going home for the holidays. He and Malfoy would be the only two Slytherins staying back at Hogwarts. Walking back into the boy's dormitory he found Draco, surprisingly, still asleep. Theo was happy to find that his friend was finally getting some undisturbed hours of rest, so he decided to do some flying. Then he'd pop by the Owlery and check if Luna Lovegood had written him a letter.

* * *

Draco sat in the Great Hall, staring at his plate of food. He'd woken again a little after noon and found Theo, freshly showered, in the common room reading something. He'd put it away quickly and before Draco could ask what it was he was being shoved off to shower and then dragged off to eat lunch. Images of Granger still plagued him and he felt that if Theo so much as looked at him, he'd just know. He'd know that Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, had wanked off to—

"So did you finish?"

Draco flinched, his eyes snapped up to Theo's.

"What?"

"Y'know… whatever it is you're doing?"

Oh, that's right, that thing, the reason why he'd come back to the dormitory so late last night. He was trying to fix the Vanishing cabinet. He wasn't off holding hands with Hermione Granger.

"No."

"I could help," said Theo casually.

"No," he sighed. He didn't want to have this conversation.

"You don't trust me." A statement, not a question.

"I don't trust anyone right now Nott," Draco answered truthfully. "Not even myself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Head's a bloody mess."

Draco started playing with his food.

"This have to do with Weasley?"

" _Weasley?_ I don't give a toss about Weasley," Draco said snarling. "Let him and Granger fight, shag, get married, fight again, have five or six babies. Fuck Weasley."

He caught Theo's stare. He looked taken aback. Pressing his lips together, he quietly corrected, "I meant Weasley senior, the one who keeps searching your house."

"Oh—I—no. No, not really," Draco was stuttering. "There's nothing to find, I'm not worried about that."

Theo's dark eyes narrowed, flitting across his face trying to read him. He opened his mouth and closed it. Then opened it again and in an apprehensive tone asked, "What have you done, Draco?"

"Nothing!" he snapped. "Just leave it." Thankfully Theo went back to eating but he knew the nosey bastard would be keeping a watchful eye on him. He already had to deal with Granger knowing everything, with Snape hounding him day and night with his incessant questions about his plans, he didn't need Nott butting into his business as well. Couldn't everyone just leave him the hell alone? Picking up his fork he began eating. Honestly, first the little Mudblood with her little muggle book and then — what did she mean by people will start getting ideas. Who was getting ideas — other than him, of course — who? Was she 'getting ideas'?

Dear Merlin... she knew. He'd kissed her after all. But that was different, that was a one-off. She couldn't know everything. But… what had Pansy told her—?

"I'm going to head to the library after," Nott said between mouthfuls "You coming?"

"Yeah," replied Draco. He had to retrieve the Picture of Dorian Gray. He didn't want to read the muggle book but maybe there were answers in there. He still couldn't figure out why she hadn't turned him in. There must've been a reason she wanted him to read it.

Theo who was walking beside him was telling an amusing story about Daphne Greengrass.

"She wants me. Her hands were everywhere, any excuse to touch me," he laughed. Draco scoffed as if it was hardly likely.

"Thought Daphne had a fellow over in Durmstrang."

Shrugging, Theo snickered, "Just can't help herself, can she?"

Draco snorted shaking his head, a smile tugging on his lips. Count on the arrogant prat to get a laugh out of him even in his worst mood.

Still smiling, he looked at Theo and admitted, "Well, she did ask me if you were staying back at Hogwarts for Christmas." Theo gave him an I-told-you-so look as they entered the library. Looking toward the shelves at the back of the library Draco said, "I just came to get a book."

Theo nodded in understanding and went his own way. Draco headed toward the shelf of lost things.

* * *

Draco had left the book hidden in his trunk because he couldn't have muggle paraphernalia just lying around. He was a Malfoy for Merlin's sake. And he hadn't found the energy to read it. He'd read and re-read the first lines but couldn't seem to make it any further. He just couldn't concentrate without thinking about his impending doom. He'd spent some time in the Room of Requirement the days before Christmas and finally, after months of trying, had managed to send an apple through. So for a little while, he felt he had some reprieve. He was getting somewhere… maybe now it was just a matter of time.

He didn't want to think about the Vanishing Cabinet any more. Today was Christmas. He woke up late morning to find Theo in the common room. He was waiting with the chess set his father had gifted him and it was with this chess set that they played, every single year. And each year, to his chagrin, Theo demolished him. Though Draco was fairly good, Theo was a chess prodigy. He didn't mind. Winning wasn't the point, it was upholding tradition.

"White or green?" asked Theo.

"Green, I'm always green."

Theo scoffed. "Forever a Slytherin."

"Merry Christmas Draco," Theo smirked as he called checkmate.

"Merry Christmas you tosser." Draco stood, giving Theo a quick hug.

Then suddenly they both heard the stone wall move and turned to see who was entering. Blaise stepped in wearing beautiful emerald green robes. The same robes he hadn't had a chance to buy at Madam Malkins. _The rat bastard._

"Ho, ho, ho, you two whores, Merry Christmas!" They both jumped up, eyes alight with surprise and went over to hug him incredulously.

"Zabini, what the bloody hell are you doing here?" asked Theo grinning.

"Like I'd let you two wankers have all the fun. I brought eggnog!" Blaise said lifting a bottle out of his bag with triumph.

"That's firewhiskey," Theo said pointedly.

"Look," Blaise sighed with melodramatic flair. "I had an epiphany of some sorts. I definitely qualify to be in your little club—"

"There is no club," Draco interjected ready to argue.

"Well, there's not if I'm not a member, which I most certainly am. Slytherin- _check_ , fatherless- _check_ , tosser most of the time- _check_ , alone on Christmas- _check_."

"Oh Merlin, I think he's trying to say he loves us," Draco frowned as if he had something foul in his mouth.

"There's the Christmas spirit!" Zabini chuckled wrapping his arms around Draco's shoulder and giving him a hearty shake. Malfoy tossed him off laughing.

"Thought you were with your mom for Christmas," Theo said, with a questioning tone. Zabini shrugged and told them she'd gone off with some new bloke skiing and he didn't really want to third wheel with them. This wasn't at all unexpected of Mrs Zabini, her behaviour was, well, inconsiderate, but Draco always thought that she was very good at finding new ways to disappoint her son. Theo frowned disapprovingly but then conjured three glasses. Blaise uncorked the whiskey and poured everyone a glass.

"A toast," said Theo, "to… to the chess club!"

Draco and Blaise smiled knowing all too well what Theo meant. The glasses clinked together and all three boys gulped down their drinks.


	14. The Last Lie

Hermione had done nothing but worry after leaving Hogwarts. She couldn't stop wondering what Draco was doing in the castle. There could only be one reason for him staying over Christmas holidays and that was to continue whatever it was he was meant to be doing for Voldemort. Why else would he leave his mother alone? She still couldn't be a hundred percent sure that he had had anything to do with the necklace because, as McGonagall had told them, he was in detention with her at the time Katie Bell was cursed. But if she was confronted with making a choice after the events of the previous night, she'd have to agree with Harry, that yes, Draco had been responsible.

She couldn't figure out how he had done it but she had a sinking feeling that it was part of the service he'd mentioned to Blaise Zabini. Yet, Voldemort himself couldn't kill a wizard as powerful as Albus Dumbledore, so that could only mean that Draco had been given the task knowing he would fail.

And still, he'd tried. Was he arrogant enough to think he could kill the headmaster, or was he just that desperate? Knowing Draco Malfoy, it was probably a little bit of both.

She was beginning to regret not having told someone but then she imagined if she did, what would happen to him? Finding him curled up crying; he seemed so… harmless. And so Hermione continued to seesaw between listening to her head and her heart.

Her parents had sensed her unease and asked if everything was alright. She could only smile and nod in the affirmative. What could she possibly tell them? That she was certain that the boy who had bullied her for the last few years had grown up to become a fully-fledged Death Eater intent on ridding the world of her kind? No, she'd really rather not. She just wanted to savour these days with her mother and father.

Then again, what about what Pansy had told her, was it true? Pansy seemed to believe so, yet Hermione couldn't fathom the idea that the boy who publically ridiculed her using a racial slur, was also secretly in love with her. _Love_ — _in love — with me_? He barely knew her! In fact, she could hardly recall a conversation that didn't involve a throwaway insult or a vicious glare.

Even now when she was trying to help him, he had called her a filthy Mudblood.

Remembering her own last words to Draco, she bit her lip and blushed. Had she really said that, had she really made that kind of innuendo? Her butterflies had butterflies whenever she thought about being underneath him. The whole thing was too surreal to even think about. Although... there was a certain appeal to having the prejudice pureblood panting after her. In fact, the more she thought about it the more she realised that having Draco Malfoy on his knees, begging her, would be the perfect kind of revenge for all the horrible things he had ever said and done. Of course, she'd point and laugh, she wouldn't allow anything to happen, she couldn't entertain other _ideas_.

He was a Death Eater and he was Malfoy. For God's sake, he was Draco Malfoy. She shook her head telling herself vehemently to stop thinking about the big bad Death Eater.

Running down the stairs Christmas morning she made a beeline for the tree. She could smell the delicious scent of her mother's famous buttermilk and banana pancakes wafting in from the kitchen. The tree was by the front window of the house, brimming full with tinsel and ornaments. Her father was sitting in the chair closest to it sipping on hot cocoa and listening to Christmas carols.

"Merry Christmas dad," she said hugging him tightly.

He faked being choked to death, "When did you get so strong, pet?"

"Ha-ha!" She smiled. He had made the same joke when she had hugged him hello at the train station. He fell back onto the chair with a thump.

"Breakfast or presents first?" he asked cheerfully.

"Do you even have to ask!" exclaimed Hermione rolling her eyes. It's like they didn't know her at all. He let out a huge belly shaking laugh as he watched her tear into the wrapping. She grinned with glee as she opened the box and found a brand new Discman. "I've heard of these, they're supposed to be fantastic." Bouncing up she ran to the CD rack in the living room and busied herself with choosing an album to listen to on her new device. Before she could plug in her earphones, her mom called out from the kitchen that Christmas pancakes were a-go. She'd made them in the shape of gingerbread men. How cool was her mum? Hermione wished her and gave her a big hug, getting flour all over her shirt.

"Oh look, it's Frosty the snowman," her dad teased as he entered the kitchen. The two women exchanged a look as he laughed out loud at his own joke. Watching her parents, she couldn't imagine how anyone could hate or wish to harm them. They were kind, silly, and loving.

Drowning her pancakes in golden syrup, she chatted happily to them both. After breakfast, her parents opened their presents from her. She'd knitted them both matching jumpers. Mrs Weasley had taught her last year and she decided she'd continue the tradition with her family. Plus, it's not like she had a lot of money. It was difficult to save when you were straddling two worlds. Her mind drifted to Ron and Harry. She was a little sad to not be at the burrow this year. The Weasleys were like her second home, after Hogwarts and here, of course. The strange thing was that while she missed the burrow, she didn't feel like it was where she ought to be right now. She really ought to be at the castle.

For the fourth time that dad she chided herself for having left Draco alone at Hogwarts...

"Sweetheart, I know we've asked already but are you sure you're ok?"

Hermione raised her eyes to see her mother wearing a troubled expression. She was just about to say she was absolutely fine but paused. Truthfully, she wasn't fine and she'd just been staring out the window like a looney for the last ten minutes worrying about a boy she wasn't even sure she liked.

"This year isn't turning out exactly the way I expected," she said finally. Looking up again she found they were still staring at her intently waiting for her to explain. "I just... there's this," she hesitated. " _Friend_. He's going through a lot. I worry that he shouldn't be alone right now. I'm scared of what he might do."

"What he might do," her father repeated. "Such as...?"

"Well, I just don't want him to do anything that might cause him or anyone else pain."

Her mother let out a soft gasp. "Do you mean he might hurt himself?"

Hermione sighed. "Exactly." Because that's precisely what she wanted Draco to understand. "There are some things you can never take back."

Her mother looked worried. She asked after his parents and what had happened.

"Isn't there a teacher he can speak to?"

Hermione pursed her lips. She couldn't tell them one thing without having to explain everything else, so she just told them to forget she'd said anything.

"I'm here and I want to enjoy the time I have with you both, so let's just forget it." They seemed reluctant but dropped the subject anyway. They were never the kind of parents to push her to do anything. They knew she would come to them if she needed them.

* * *

Christmas went by and it was the day before New Years. She was in her room sitting at her desk. She had been staring at a blank piece of parchment for the last twenty minutes. She'd decided to tell Harry. How could she not when she'd dismissed his suspicions so quickly. Draco was dangerous to himself and to others.

And yet she couldn't...

Every time she tried putting her quill to the parchment she'd freeze. She'd replay memories; his hand over hers, a halo of little yellow birds, the glint of gold, his thumb brushing against her lip, his tears, the blood on his sleeve, his mouth kissing her wrist and then Pansy in her ear hissing, _you'll ruin him._

She couldn't breathe. The quill fell. She started rubbing her fingers over the bracelet feeling that somehow, to tell Harry, would be an unforgivable betrayal. She could lose his trust entirely.

Suddenly there was a knock on her door. Her parents didn't wait for a response before they were slowly opening it.

"Hey, pet."

She gave them a wan smile as they walked in.

"We might be going away for the weekend."

"Oh, where are we going?"

Her parents were looking at each other sheepishly.

"We didn't want to tell you this earlier but we had entered a raffle and we won a getaway weekend trip by the coast and, well, it's only for two."

She frowned, not entirely understanding.

"I can't come with you?"

"Well, we were thinking you could go back to Hogwarts a few days earlier."

"Oh."

"It's not like that," her mother exhaled. We just thought it'd be good for you to spend time with your friend." Her father wasn't looking at her.

Hermione sighed. "There is no raffle, is there?"

"Aw pet," her father huffed sitting on her bed. "There's no point having you here when your mind is already over there."

"I'm so sorry," said Hermione, overwhelmed with guilt at the thought of having neglected her parents. Especially, when they scarcely got to spend time together. Her mother was fussing with her hair, moving it out of her face.

"Don't you feel bad," she admonished. "We have plenty of holidays ahead of us and, well, you're caught in the middle of something. We know that you wouldn't be worrying like this if it wasn't important."

Her eyes glistened. They really were the best people she knew and she loved them more than they could know.

* * *

Draco had spent every day in the Room of Requirement working on the Vanishing Cabinet. He'd managed to send another apple through, which meant he knew for certain how to open a channel for things to leave the castle. Now he just needed to figure out how to open a channel to allow things to enter the castle. While walking to the seventh-floor corridor he debated how long it would be before the Dark Lord would send him another 'reminder', when he suddenly stopped short.

There were footsteps behind him.

He turned, alarmed.

Hermione.

"Hi," she squeaked as if she was the one he'd caught by surprise. "What are you doing here?"

What was he doing here... he was, he was just looking for — wait. What was _she_ doing here, she was meant to be home for the holidays.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he countered.

"Are you going to the Room of Requirement?" She asked ignoring his question.

His eyebrows furrowed. _Smart little witch._ "Are you following me?"

"Of course," Hermione replied with a tilt of her head — as if he even had to ask. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled. "So, did you read the book?"

Oh, fuck. He hadn't done his homework. It would've been less frightening to face Snape with an incomplete essay. Maybe the book was a test. Like if he hadn't read it, he wouldn't pass and she would go running off to Dumbledore or worse, Potter.

"Yeah," he lied. "I read it."

Her eyes lit up, "You did?"

He nodded.

Hermione stepped toward him and he had to fight the urge to retreat.

She was chewing her lip. Draco could see the little gears shifting in that fluffy head of hers. Was he staring—?

"So…" she blushed. _So, you won't say anything to anyone?_ "Let's do something!"

He must've misheard. "Excuse me?"

"We could — erm— oh! We could watch a movie!"

"What?"

"Yeah!" she said grabbing his hand and pulling him towards Gryffindor Tower. Had she lost her mind? He withdrew his hand like it was on fire. She looked hurt. "There's no one else there," she huffed as if that was the problem. That was only the tip of the iceberg.

He made a show of putting his hands in his pockets. "I have things to do Granger."

"Like what?" She challenged, folding her arms.

Like fixing a Vanishing cabinet and letting Death Eaters into the school. Fuck _._

"Nothing."

She was grinning triumphantly. "Brilliant!"

He followed her like a wayward child; his hands still in his pockets. There were still a few Ravenclaw stragglers in the castle and he couldn't just bloody well hold her hand. When had that become a thing she thought she could do? Stepping into the Gryffindor common room made the fine hairs on his neck stand up. He was officially in enemy territory. Even the Fat Lady in the portrait had tutted at Hermione in disapproval. He agreed. He most definitely disapproved of this too.

"Justin Finch-Fletchly is a huge film buff," Hermione was explaining as she transfigured one of the sofa cushions into a stand of some sort. "He brought the TV and DVD player to Hogwarts third year but then Colin Creevey stole it from their common room fourth year and it's been here since."

He had no idea what she was talking about.

"Who knew Colin could have such sticky hands," she was babbling. "But then again he swears that he'd rightly won a bet, I don't know the details but..." He watched as she levitated a large black box and placed it on the table. "Sit," she insisted and pushed him down into his seat. He was aware of how much more afternoon light filtered through the windows and into the room, warming it. He was loathed to admit that even their sofa was a lot more comfortable than theirs. Bloody Gryffindors.

Then she did something unforgivable.

She got on all fours.

She was fiddling with the metallic box, mumbling about wires and having to connect something to another thing. He looked down at his lap willing himself not to stare at her arse stretched tight underneath her muggle jeans. Then she was bouncing down on the sofa and with the flick of her wand the black box sprang to life.

 _What the fuck was he doing?_


	15. Babysitting Malfoy

A/N: I understand that Lotr's was only released in 2001. But I love the films and wanted it in the story.

* * *

Hermione Owled Professor McGonagall explaining that she wanted to return early so she could squeeze in extra study time. Unfortunately, the Hogwarts Express only ran on certain days of the year, so she was sent a portkey that would take her to the periphery of the castle and meet McGonagall at the gates. Owing to the fact that Hermione did spend most of her time at Hogwarts in the library studying, her Transfiguration teacher thought nothing of it. She greeted Hermione with a smile and escorted her to the Gryffindor common room.

As soon as she was left alone, she began to unpack her trunk, putting her things away neatly. It didn't take long to do and she soon found herself sitting on the edge of her bed wondering what her next move would be. The truth was that Hermione had been so busy thinking about returning to the castle, that she'd never given a second thought to what she would do once she actually got there. She could use the Marauders Map to find Draco but she wasn't sure if Harry had taken it with him. Then again, what good would it do to merely spy on him? Deep down Hermione wanted it to be his decision to do the right thing and for some insane illogical reason, she believed he could. He just needed a — a Jiminy cricket — a conscience — a nudge in the right direction.

Going into the boy's dormitory she looked for the Mauraders Map hoping he hadn't taken it with him to the burrow. It would be of no use there so perhaps...

She smiled as she found it tucked away under his pillow. She unfolded it and found that the castle was almost empty. Snape was here. McGonagall. Lisa Turpin. Theodore Nott.

Draco Malfoy.

A little black dot moving up towards the seventh floor. Why would he... was he coming to the Gryffindor Tower? No, she reasoned, that didn't make sense.

The only other thing she could think of that was on the seventh floor was the Room of Requirement.

Tapping her wand on the parchment she said "Mischief Managed." She threw on a jumper and ran out. Turning down the corridor she saw him further along and began to follow. He stopped and turned so suddenly she almost jumped out of her skin.

He was looking at her as if she were one of the castle ghosts. She asked him if he was going to the Room of Requirement and he responded by glowering at her which meant he was definitely up to something there.

But then he said he had read the Picture of Dorian Gray and that gave her so much hope. If he was willing to do that, he was willing to listen… right?

Then it hit her, she would just babysit Malfoy from now on, that's how she'd deal with this. Eventually, something would rub off.

Still, his mere presence was so nerve-wracking. He was standing in the middle of the Gryffindor common room looking like a lost puppy. Then getting the TV to work without electricity was another hassle and it wasn't as if 'Mr I'm-a-pureblood knew how to help. The whole ordeal was traumatic, to say the least. She wished he would relax because then she finally could. Instead, he was sitting on the sofa upright, like a stone statue.

Was he even breathing, she wondered. This wasn't at all like watching a film with Harry.

The film started and she was glad that she'd chosen Lord of the Rings. After she'd conceded that yes — wizards and elves were grossly misrepresented and explained that everything in the film was a fictional story written by a muggle — Draco became completely absorbed. He even seemed to relax a little into the sofa. Halfway through, the silence between them had become somewhat comfortable. He seemed, though, to have the bad habit of asking her what was going to happen without waiting and watching to find out. _Will Boromir try to steal the ring from Frodo? How will Gandalf escape from that tower, he can't Apparate, can he?_

When The Lord of the Rings was over, she raised her arms and stretched her tight muscles.

Draco looking at her accusingly, as if she'd done something he didn't agree with. "It's stopped," he frowned.

"It's over."

"But the story wasn't finished."

"It's a trilogy, there are two more films."

"Oh good," he said settling back into the sofa. Her mouth hung open.

"You want to watch them now?"

He scowled at her. "What's the point of only showing me a third of a story?"

"Each movie is almost three hours long!"

"Better get some food then," he muttered. "Nix!"

Hermione almost jumped as an elf apparated right in front of her.

"Master Malfoy is calling?" asked the little elf.

Draco smiled, "Bring dinner Nix. For both of us."

"I can get my own dinner, thank you very much!"

Nix began to whimper. "Miss doesn't like Nix—"

"She doesn't know what she's talking about," he interjected.

"Nix makes nice food!"

Hermione's eyes widened realizing the elf was on the verge of tears.

"No, no, I want food, I just — if you're tired, I'd be happy to get it myself."

Draco leaned in close to Nix. "Don't listen to her," he whispered loud enough for her to hear. "You see Nix, she's... she's not all there," he tapped his temple with his index finger. "Know what I mean?"

The elf's large round eyes widened before he began to slowly nod in understanding. He gave Hermione a sad smile and disapparated with a pop.

Hermione rounded on him as soon as he was gone, seething.

"Real classy, Malfoy!"

"I'll have you know Nix happens to really like me. He used to work here in the kitchens and he'd always bring me sugar quills and jelly slugs."

She stared at him with utter disbelief. He was absolutely awful, all the way to his shrivelled non-existent heart.

"All those sweets will rot your teeth," she scowled squinting at him.

"Ridiculous," smirked Draco. "I have excellent teeth."

"You're so conceited..."

Draco's smug face fell. "What's your problem?" he growled.

"Just remembering the time you hit me with Densaugeo," she cut back.

"That's not fair, I was aiming it at Potter!"

"After you said you didn't want a Mudblood touching your hand!"

Malfoy's cheeks were bright red. He was glaring at her, his jaw clenched. She knew they were both thinking the same thing; he clearly didn't have a problem with her touching him anymore. "You could apologize," she blurted out. "For everything."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Fine," he huffed. " _If_ you apologize for slapping me."

"You deserved that, you were going to kill poor Buckbeak!"

He narrowed his eyes at her and leaned in close. "Don't you mean Witherwings?" he drawled.

Her breath hitched. She'd just deny it, she'd just—

"Don't even bother, I'm not stupid."

"But, but how did you know?" stuttered Hermione.

Draco scoffed. "Like I haven't seen you down there cuddling the little monster like a little Pygmy Puff."

Hermione began chewing her lip and stared at him intently. "You've been watching me?" she whispered meekly.

"No — I, I just..." She leaned into him, waiting for him to go on. "I saw you once," he said clearing his throat. "Just the one time."

Without meaning to Hermione found herself close enough to catch the scent of him. He smelled of citrus, spice and fresh wood. She felt a warm blush crawl up her neck as she realised what she was doing.

"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "I apologise. I'm sorry I slapped you, Draco."

He blinked, almost surprised that she had. "I... I'm," but the words seemed to stick in his throat. She looked at him meaningfully waiting for his apology, but his eyes were hooded, staring at her mouth.

"Draco?"

His throat bobbed, tearing his gaze from her lips.

"I... I'm sorry too."

Hermione pursed her lips biting back a smile. She knew she should shift away but a part of her wanted to get that much closer, just enough to—

"Nix brings Master and Miss food!"

Draco startled, standing up so quickly that the cushion fell off his lap. Hermione was blushing a red to rival Ginny's hair. She was up too and started fiddling with the DVD player.

"Right, next disk," she announced.

"Next what?"

"Next film."

Without looking at him, she sat back down onto the sofa, much further away from him than she'd been sitting before. Flicking her wand, the film started. She took a cushion and pressed it to her chest, it felt colder on this side. She frowned when she realized that Nix had left Draco a sugar quill. _Spoilt brat._

He held it out, offering it to her.

"Don't worry Granger, you have excellent teeth too."

Her heart stopped.


	16. New Year Moonlight

They were three-quarters of the way into the last part of the trilogy when he turned to ask Hermione something and found her fast asleep. She looked like a little ball with her knees tucked in and her hair splayed around her face.

Merlin, but she was cute.

He'd never seen her sleep. He watched the subtle movement of her chest, the way one hand dangled over the edge of the sofa. She looked so at peace.

Draco smiled to himself as an idea occurred to him.

Did he dare?... Oh, he did. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. He had to play it just right though, otherwise, it wouldn't work.

He got up very quietly and walked around to the back of the sofa to stand directly behind her. Taking his wand out he took a deep breath. _Wingardium Leviosa_ he whispered, levitating the TV high into the air and then he pursed his lips and with a swish of his wand, released the spell.

 _BANG!_

Hermione woke with a start, breathless, her hair sticking out at all sides staring wide-eyed at the shattered TV on the floor.

"Boo," he whispered behind her ear.

She yelped and fell backwards onto the rug.

Draco burst out laughing. A hand over his face, he came around to see her sprawled on the floor. She was staring at him in shock, half dazed. He cast a _Reparo_ on the TV and stood above her revelling in his own genius. Hermione sat up on her elbows and glared at him.

"Now, now Granger, better get up off the filthy floor. Don't want anyone walking in and getting ideas," he smirked, throwing her words back in her face.

Hermione turned brick red with embarrassment.

 _Locomotor Mortis!_

Draco's legs suddenly locked causing him to land with a thud in an undignified manner onto the floor next to her. "Learnt that from you when you used it on Neville first year," she laughed, rolling onto her side to watch him struggle.

"Do you remember everything woman?" he retorted, releasing the binds with his wand. "You're worse than Pansy."

He groaned, rubbing and stretching out his back. He noticed that Hermione was watching him apprehensively, then in one breath she blurted, "What happened between you and Pansy?"

The question was unexpected. He looked at the ceiling wondering how to answer this.

Draco settled for, "She broke it off."

Hermione was quiet and he hoped that was the end of it.

"Why?"

 _Why?_

His eyes danced over her face, wondering what the truth would sound like.

 _Because I bought a love bracelet, telling myself I was going to give it to her — really believing I was going to give it to her and instead, I gave it to you. And I think when she saw you wearing it, she knew before I did, she knew I'd only ever have given it to you. I hadn't' even realized what I was doing. I attached the coin, performed the spells, put it in an envelope and sent it._

"Draco—"

"She's with Zabini now." There. That was true. He'd already lied to her once today about reading the muggle book. He didn't have it in him to do it again.

"I know," she murmured. "They were at Slughorn's party together."

He was still staring at the ceiling wondering when it'd be safe to look elsewhere.

"Pansy's very confused… she was saying things... impossible things..."

His heart was beating violently in his chest, silently pleading with her not to say anything out loud.

"Don't you want to know what she told me?" asked Hermione in a quiet voice.

"No," he replied, turning to face her. He didn't want to know because he already had an idea of what she might have said. He didn't want any of it repeated or spoken out loud. Not now, not when he felt this vulnerable.

Hermione looked as if she were bracing herself to say more when suddenly a loud chime sounded through Gryffindor Tower.

"What is that?" asked Draco in alarm.

"It's midnight," she smiled. "Happy New Year."

He raised his eyebrows. He'd been so fixated on the cabinet that he hadn't even realized what day it was.

"Happy New Year," he breathed. "I didn't realize it was so late..."

Hermione licked her lips. "You could stay the night," she offered shyly.

Draco blinked in surprise.

"I mean, Filch is out there and it _is_ past curfew. We could fall asleep right here."

He heard himself say okay. It wasn't real though. This was all just a strange dream. He'd wake up and it'd be over. He watched as Hermione transfigured her clothes into pyjama's and then he did the same.

Grabbing a few cushions off the sofa she giggled, "Who would've thought, Draco Malfoy roughing it out."

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She was right, he'd never slept on the ground before. He conjured a blanket and threw it over them. There was an appropriate amount of room between the two as they lay on their sides gazing at each other. He wondered how long she would allow him to stare at her. She was even more beautiful up close.

"Why are you back so early?" asked Draco, his curiosity getting the better of him.

She licked her lips, a nervous tic, he was starting to realize. "I didn't think you should be alone." It came out like a confession and he didn't know how to respond. So he extinguished the fire and remained silent.

As Draco's eyes began to close he thought of how the nights weren't as dark in the Tower. There was just enough moonlight on her face.

* * *

Hermione was straddling a dream. Her body searched for heat. It was cold without the fire. Cold-blooded Slytherin snake was evidently used to subfreezing temperatures. She rolled over. That was better. She moved closer to it. That was perfect.

She fell back asleep.

Her eyelids fluttered open. A thin ray of morning light was shining on her face. No, not yet. She didn't want to wake up. She was so warm and comfortable. She tried to find her way back. She hid her face into warm flesh. She breathed it in. Mm…

Wait.

She opened her eyes. Her face was buried in the crevice of Draco Malfoy's neck. Her leg was wrapped around his, her thigh dangerously close to—

Oh, God.

She looked up to find that he had his free arm resting above his head, his fist clenched and his eyes open staring ahead.

Hermione tore herself away as if she'd burned him. "I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed.

"It's fine," he rasped but he looked pained.

Hermione was cold again. She relit the fire with her wand avoiding his gaze. It felt like they'd done something horribly wrong, almost sinful.

But she would've loved to have rubbed her leg against his just a little. Press her nose to the bare skin of his neck. Breathe. He was so much warmer than she'd imagined him to be.

The thoughts came so unbiddenly she was mortified with herself for even thinking them.

Then suddenly he was up and he was leaving.

"I have to go."

That would be safest. "Okay."

Without another word between them he left.

Hermione fell back onto the rug. The scent of citrus, spice, and fresh wood surrounded her and she knew she was in trouble.

She wasn't supposed to be cuddling up to Draco Malfoy, she was supposed to be keeping an eye on him. She was meant to be his Jiminy Cricket and set him on the right path. The road she was going down though, was a dangerous one.

Sighing, Hermione got up, cleaned the room and put everything back the way it was before. When she checked the time, she couldn't believe it was almost noon. A cold shower would do her good and then she'd go down and spend some time with Hagrid and Buckbeak. She still felt awful that she hadn't continued Care of Magical Creatures and a surprise visit was definitely in order. Afterwards, she'd head to the library. She might as well start studying considering she'd come back early.

Yes, it sounded like the perfect way to spend the day. And even better, she'd do it all without thinking about Draco.


	17. Stalemate

The stone wall to the Slytherin common room opened and Draco hurried in. He desperately needed a cold shower. He needed… he needed _something_. Merlin if she'd rubbed her thigh on his just one more time he could've — would've… _fuck_!

"Draco!" Someone yelled.

He stopped short on the way to the boy's dormitory and turned. "Nott."

"Where the hell have you been?" Theo demanded.

"Later," he mumbled, turning back around. "Need a shower."

"No," Theo ordered. "What the _actual_ fuck, do you realize I spent hours looking for you yesterday — in the library, on the grounds, the Quidditch field, the Hall, everywhere!"

"Why?" he asked anxiously. Had something happened, maybe to his mother?

" _Why?"_ he repeated incredulously. "Are you serious? Because you just disappeared and didn't come back and… Hell, I don't know what you're doing for _him_."

"I was… detained. I didn't think—"

"Where were you?"

"I-I can't say, you know I can't talk about it."

Theo was combing his hand through his hair furiously. "Well fuck Draco! When I woke up early morning and you still weren't back, I was really worried. I didn't know what to do, I sent your mother an owl."

"You did _what_?" he hissed stepping toward Theo — to kill him.

"Well what the hell was I supposed to do?" he shouted, waving his arms wildly in the air. "You were just gone!"

"It's fine," said Draco closing his eyes. He'd just write to his mother, calm her down. "I'll owl her now, tell her I'm alright."

"Err, yeah," Theo said apprehensively. "Except I'm fairly sure she told Snape, he was just in the Great hall looking for you."

Draco released a litany of curse words.

Theo held up his hands trying to calm him. "I'll go to his office right now and tell him you're fine."

Shaking his head with irritation Draco headed to the bathrooms. He stripped and stepped under the running water. The anger he felt toward Nott dissipated leaving him with guilt for having been so careless. Of course, he would've been worried. And what had he been doing while Theo was running around the castle looking for him? He'd been lounging around, cuddling up to a Mudblood. Then he'd lied and made it seem like he was busy doing something for the Dark Lord. What a fucking joke.

He was suddenly feeling exhausted; right down to his bones. Lying, plotting murders, evading death, all these things were wearing on him. Everything seemed to have become infinitely more complicated with Hermione Granger in the picture. Next time he saw the witch he wouldn't walk away, he'd run — before she'd have a chance to smile and beguile him into her den of torture. Because that's how he'd best describe what waking up this morning was like… psychological torture.

Why? Draco lamented. Why did it have to be her of all witches?

Hermione... Hermione... Hermione... her name alone started a Fiendfyre within him.

If he could just be rid of her, wrap his hands around her pretty little neck and — and… would she have let him kiss her? The thought of her hot breath on his neck was making him hard.

Draco turned the taps on cold.

He shuddered.

He was losing his grip. He already wanted to be with her again, just to be near her.

The foundations of his Occlumency were collapsing. He knew it, could feel it. Whenever he tried to close his mind, his body wouldn't let him. There was this _yearning_... like his skin longed to be touched by hers... like it ached for her.

Merlin, he'd only just been with her and he missed her.

His eyes stung.

It would only ever be like this. He could never have her. And he needed to be numb to the pain of it, needed to stop feeling _it._

But he couldn't shut it off, he was trying and it wasn't working.

Then suddenly he was crying; panicking; gasping; bracing himself against the tiles.

He was in love with her and he could never have her and he couldn't close his mind and the Dark Lord would see it and kill him and his mother and his father and he hadn't fixed the Vanishing cabinet and he was lying to Theo, and Pansy had left him to be with Blaise, and Blaise was part of the Slug Club and he wasn't, because his father was a Death Eater and he was a Death Eater and he Imperiused Madam Rosmerta and he almost killed Katie Bell all while trying to kill Dumbledore and if he didn't kill Dumbledore the Dark Lord would kill him and his mother and his father and then he'd be dead and he couldn't breathe.

He was going to die and he couldn't breathe.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut.

He thought only of the running water.

He inhaled deeply. Felt it drip down his back.

He exhaled, feeling stillness fall on him like rain.

He inhaled, listening to the sound of it, retreating inside, delving deep, deeper, and deeper still.

He exhaled. The water rising.

He inhaled, imagining it fiercer, a cascading waterfall, flooding his mind.

He exhaled.

He thought of only water; clear and cool; washing it all away.

The doors to his mind were locked. A moat of water surrounded them, drowning anything that tried to enter.

* * *

It had almost been three days since Hermione had seen Draco and she was on edge. She had kept an eye on him using the Marauders Map, although it didn't help much. Bizarre thing was, that at first, she couldn't find him on it anywhere. Then she realized that it had to mean one of two things; either he wasn't at Hogwarts or he was in the Room of Requirement. It did cross her mind that perhaps he had left to do something at Hogsmeade. That is after all where Leanne said Katie had got the necklace, but considering that she'd caught him going to the Room of Requirement before, she guessed it was the latter.

Yesterday evening she'd sent him a message on the coin suggesting they play a game of exploding snap. He'd never replied.

She hadn't tried to contact him again after that. She spent the evening sulking in bed feeling far too much like a girl who'd been snubbed by the boy she liked. And it hurt.

Which was mad. Absolutely ridiculous.

She sighed wondering just what she'd gotten herself into. Part of her wished she'd never found Draco that night on patrol. That's when this whole _thing_ started.

Classes were beginning again in two days. Harry, Ginny and Won-won would be back tomorrow. If she couldn't help Draco, she'd have to tell her friends.

Unable to concentrate on what she was reading, she slammed the book shut. No, she would help him. She would find him and force him to stop being a Death Eater. It was that simple. With fierce determination, she left the library and marched up to Gryffindor Tower.

 _He thinks he can ghost me, she thought, well, we'll see about that._

She couldn't find Draco on the map, which meant, to her chagrin, that he was in the Room of Requirement _again_. She sat on Harry's bed trying and failing, for the tenth time in the last few days, to figure out what he was doing in there.

A plan of action, that's all she needed. Harry was a wizard of action. She just needed to follow his example. She was leaving the room, a plan formulated when she stopped to check her reflection in the mirror. She let down her hair, fiddling with it a little and then chided herself because just what the hell was she doing.

Hermione hurried down to the kitchens and got what she needed, then she went back to the seventh floor to check the Marauders Map again. Draco still hadn't left the Room of Requirement. She grabbed her Ancient Runes book and walked down the corridor. She sat against the wall where the tapestry hung and waited.

It was a little over an hour later when a door began to appear. She put her book down calmly on her lap as Draco slid out. Upon seeing her, he froze. She caught a glimpse of the room behind him before the door began to disappear.

"Hello," she smiled, raising herself off the ground. "You didn't respond to my last message… did you get it?"

"Yes," he said flatly.

Hermione felt a pang of hurt and hoped she didn't look as disappointed as she was. She had to stick to the plan, no allowing any angry or wounded feelings to get in the way.

"Well anyway, I was thinking we could study together, maybe practice non-verbal spells. I'm not as good as I'd like to be at—"

"Can't," Draco deadpanned. He tried to step around her but she blocked him.

She barked a humourless laugh, digging into her bag. "Look, I even got you a sugar quill," she said presenting it proudly. "AND… jelly slugs!"

Draco didn't even blink. There was something off about him.

"Thank you," he said, pushing past her. "But, no thank you." Hermione's shoulders sagged. He was making this so difficult. Screw the plan of action! Hermione pointed her wand at him and cast a weak, non-verbal stunning spell. He was going to practice with her, whether he liked it or not. It hit Draco lightly on his back, he didn't even bother to look back at her before rolling his shoulders and continuing to walk away. She herself was stupefied. She'd just initiated an altercation and he hadn't taken the bait. What the hell was wrong with him? Pointing her wand at him again she whispered under her breath, " _Stupefy_."

This time it hit him hard enough for him to trip forward. He turned, his eyes narrowing at her and then thought better of it and continued to walk away.

Just how far could she go before it went too far?

She cast another stunning spell and this time he fell forward on his hands and knees. Hermione smirked, extremely pleased with herself because as far as she was concerned, he deserved it, he was acting like an absolute prat and... and he was stalking toward her looking vengeful.

 _Uh-oh._

" _Protego_!" she yelled, deflecting a disarming charm. " _Impedimenta_!"

She stuck out her tongue, as he fell back against the sidewall. By the furious look on his face, taunting him was probably not the best idea. Before she could think of what to do next, Draco shouted _Expelliarmus_ and her wand flew out of her hand hitting the wall. He stood twirling his, stepping toward her. He looked absolutely predatory. Her gut told her to flee. She ran into the nearest room and locked the door. She could hear him laughing. Her heart was racing. He wouldn't actually hurt her, would he? She had to think, outsmart him. She crouched down behind the desks and chairs. Then she heard the door open.

"Come out and play little witch," he chuckled. Hermione listened to his footsteps carefully. If he used _homem revelio_ to find her she'd have no chance, but he seemed to enjoy the game of cat-and-mouse. She bit her lip wishing she wasn't the mouse. He was in the room near the back wall. She began to crawl quietly toward the door. When she was close enough she made a dash for it, almost getting hit by a _petrificus totalus_. She ran out searching frantically for her wand. Where the hell was it, had he taken it? She didn't think he'd picked it up. Turning around she came face to face with her opponent.

"See how you like it," Draco smirked. " _Stupefy_!"

His spell was strong and she fell to the floor near the tapestry. She saw it then, tucked neatly against the wall, just underneath the fabric, her beautiful vine wood wand. It was too far to reach.

Approaching, Draco looked down at her seemingly in deep thought. "Maybe I should tie you up," he hummed.

Hermione screamed " _Accio_!" and her wand flew into her hand. She made quick work to cast a trip jinx and Draco fell, his wand falling behind him. He tried reaching for it but Hermione dove on him getting to it first.

"Got you!" she exclaimed her wand at his throat and his in her other hand. She was panting over him filled with exhilaration.

Draco was staring at her with dark hooded eyes, breathless and disarmed.

"You're on me."

"I know," she said softly. Her lips tugged into a coy smile. "I used wandless magic, did you see?"

"Get off."

"Not till you say you're sorry," she teased.

"Hermione," he rasped. " _Get off_."

Her smile faded. He'd said her name. It sounded... he looked... hungry.

She stood up quickly and offered him his wand.

Draco took it and raised himself off the floor. They were both flushed from the duel and something else. Hermione averted her eyes trying to look anywhere but at him.

"See," she said licking her lips, trying to sound nonchalant. "Knew you could use the practice." His jaw clenched, probably sore that she'd bested him. "Classes start the day after… we should do something fun... while we still can." Hermione hoped he understood what she was trying to say. Everyone would be back tomorrow and things would be different. They only had so much time to… to…

His eyes were dancing over her face.

She watched him swallow and ask apprehensively, "Want to go to the Three Broomsticks?"

She nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay," he echoed, looking a little dazed.

She pursed her lips. She was walking down that road again, the dangerous one.

* * *

As he had hoped for, he and Hermione had the pub to themselves. He imagined it would be empty considering everyone at Hogwarts were off enjoying their Christmas holidays and the usual residents were visiting family. This was fine though. They were just talking. Nothing that would get him into trouble, at least, not a lot of trouble. It comforted him that Madam Rosmerta was under the Imperius. She wouldn't report seeing them to anyone. Thinking about having cursed the barmaid he decided he needed another drink. That and the fact that he was doing exactly what he set out not to do, but Hermione had baited him with a fight. He thought he'd constructed a strong guard but she showed up and suddenly it was fragile, penetrable.

He had just started on his third goblet of mead while she was on her second and so far, it had been amusing, for him at least.

"You were running around with those badges," he mocked. "And those awful hats."

"It's slave labour!"

"They like it—"

"Dobby certainly didn't like it, your family used to punish him!"

"Oh _please_ , that mad elf practically punishes himself. He's completely looney! If you ask me, freeing Dobby is the only thing Potter's done right. Useless wizard," Draco muttered taking a swig from his goblet.

Hermione gaped at him. "How can you say that? Harry is a great wizard, he was even in the Triwizard Tournament."

Draco stopped short because he couldn't really argue with that. After all, the twat had fought a dragon and escaped.

He laughed remembering the badges he'd made in Potter's honour. "Oh yes, I recall," he smiled smugly. "See Granger, I can make badges too."

"You're a real git," she admonished no doubt referring to the slogan, 'Potter Stinks'. "You even told Rita Skeeter I was dating Harry, the nerve of you, honestly!"

"I thought you were," he shrugged innocently.

Hermione slammed her hand on the table. "You know I wasn't!"

"If I'd known Weasley was in the equation I'd have told her that too."

She almost choked on her drink. "There is no _equation,"_ she sputtered.

"Please," he scoffed. "We go to the same school, Granger."

He watched as she glanced down embarrassed. "Ron and I are just friends."

"Is that why you were crying?" he asked, his tone gentle. "Because he kissed Lavender Brown?"

By the look on her face, he had obviously caught her off guard. She tried feigning indifference.

"I don't care who he kisses," she lied. "We're just —"

"Friends," he supplied. "Then riddle me this, if you're just friends, then why is he so angry that Krum gave you a bracelet?"

" _You_ gave me the bracelet," she countered, ignoring his question.

"Right," he purred, a teasing smile playing across his face. "Does that mean I'm part of the equation?"

She blushed, licking her lips. He liked it, in fact, he liked it a little too much. Draco pushed his glass away. He really shouldn't be 'under the influence' anywhere near Hermione Granger.

"What — no — I don't... I don't know what you mean."

It must've been the way she was sitting close to him in a shadowed corner or the glint of gold dangling off her wrist, tempting him to touch it, but he wanted her to know what he meant... maybe she already did.

"Don't you?" he swallowed. Because if he was sure of one thing, it was that Hermione Granger knew everything.

He brushed his fingers against hers. Her breath hitched. He wanted to take her on this table.

"Hermione…" Her name sounded like a confession.

Her eyes were dancing over his face, "It's not possible," she whispered suddenly looking terrified and he was about to tell her it was — it was living and real, _it_ , the feeling, like a throbbing pulse — when suddenly he thought he heard someone else call her name.

"Hermione," the wistful voice said again. They snatched their hands away. "I didn't know you were at Hogwarts."

"Luna!" Hermione exclaimed taken aback. Draco released a muffled curse. It was that barmy Ravenclaw and she was here with — well, well, well — Nott. His sneaky Slytherin friend was standing behind Lovegood, his eyes narrowed on him. _Just what exactly was Nott doing with her?_ he wondered.

"We're discussing an assignment," Hermione said suddenly. "For Arithmancy." Dear Merlin, help him, no one had even asked what they were doing.

"That's funny," Theo said with a stony expression. "Draco isn't in that class."

"No," she stuttered. "Of course, I—"

"McGonagall said it'd get me out of detention if I helped Granger with a divination project, explain the constellations significant to the Malfoy family. What are _you two_ doing here?" he asked looking pointedly at Nott.

"Hello Draco Malfoy," Luna smiled warmly. "Theodore was in need of a drink."

"Actually, Luna, if you don't mind, I need to have a word with Draco," he said evenly.

Hermione was looking nervously between the two boys. She stood abruptly and said to Lovegood, "We're finished here… Luna, would you mind walking back with me to the castle?"

Draco watched the two witches as they left the pub. Opening the door, Hermione glanced back at him from across the empty expanse. He could've sworn he saw her cheeks go crimson before she bolted out. As soon as the doors swung shut and they were alone again Theo rounded on him.

"What the hell were you saying to her?" he asked. "Why in Merlin's name was she even here with you?"

Draco said nothing.

"We discussed this," Theo said trying to calm himself. He did it whenever he knew the wrong approach was to get angry. "I told you it needs to stop. Just, tell me, what were you saying to her."

"It's none of your business," muttered Draco. "Don't know why you're in my face when you're secretly traipsing around with Lovegood."

Theo was shaking his head ignoring him completely. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"I said it's none of your business—"

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stop."

"I can't!" he snapped knocking his glass off the table. "Don't you think I would've fucking stopped if I knew how?" Putting his elbows on the table, Draco held his head in his hands. He muttered a curse under his breath because he hadn't meant to admit to anything but there was only so much a person could take.

Nott quietly pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.

Theo bent his head close to Draco's and began speaking in whispers as if they were in a crowded room and someone might hear. "You can still fix this," he was saying. "All you have to do is stop. Nothing is irreversible, right?"

And he was nodding, in complete agreement with Nott, admitting that he was right, promising to stop because he could oblivate her, he could fix this, he could make everything go back to the way it was. He could do what he needed to do — repair the Vanishing Cabinet, complete the mission. Except he wouldn't do any of that, he only wanted Theo to think so, believe he'd do so, but he was in too deep.

Like he'd said. He couldn't stop, he didn't know how.


	18. Truths & Half-Truths

Hermione and Luna were trudging back in the snow to Hogsmeade, arm in arm, through the cold night air. Luna who was normally a lot more talkative was being uncharacteristically quiet.

"Thanks for walking back with me," said Hermione trying to break the silence.

"That's alright," Luna smiled. "I could tell Theodore needed to stay and we needed to leave."

Hermione found it strange the way she'd say his name. "I didn't realise you were friends with Nott."

"We are and we aren't," she shrugged. "He writes to me once in awhile, especially around Christmas. He misses his mother like I miss my mother."

"I'm sorry Luna," Hermione said softly. She hadn't known that his mother was dead. Then it dawned on her that Nott had probably seen her die, that's why he could see the Thestrals in fifth year. She'd always wondered why that was. The walk back felt long and the silence was creeping back up between them. She couldn't bear it. "It must be nice to have someone to talk to about it," she tried filling in the quiet as they reached the castle. "I can only imagine how hard it must be…"

"Oh, we never talk about them," said Luna wearing a dreamy expression, wholly unaffected by the topic of conversation. "There's just something comfortable about being around someone who understands… How long have you been in love with Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione stopped dead dropping her arm.

"Excuse me?" Her voice sounded small.

"I just assumed," she said gazing at her with a vacant expression. "With all the fairy dust…"

Hermione felt her blood curdle. _Fairy dust_. Of all the crazy things she's ever said! "Luna, please, sometimes you say the most ridiculous things!" Hermione choked in fury, folding her hands and marching off into the castle.

That same night in the bathroom after her shower she was drying her hair when she caught her reflection in the mirror. She went up to it and studied herself closely, looking above her head, over her shoulder and all around her. _Fairy dust,_ she tutted. She'd never heard of something as foolish as that.

* * *

The next day Hermione was walking back to the Gryffindor Tower from visiting Buckbeak when she spotted her friends.

"Harry! Ginny!" she exclaimed hurrying toward them. "I've just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck—I mean Witherwings." She rolled her eyes. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yeah," Ron tried to say, "pretty eventful, Rufus Scrim—"

"I've got something for you, Harry," she interrupted in an excited rush to deliver Dumbledore's letter. "Oh, hang on— new password. Abstinence."

"Precisely," said the Fat Lady giving Hermione the I-know-what-you-did look. She'd been silently reproaching her ever since Draco stayed over that night.

"What's up with her?" asked Harry.

"No idea," said Hermione feigning ignorance as she led the way into the packed common room. "Anyway!"

She rummaged in her pocket for a moment, then pulled out a scroll of parchment with Dumbledore's writing on it.

"Great," said Harry, unrolling it. "I've got loads to tell him—and you. Let's sit down."

But at that moment there was a loud squeal of "Won-Won!" and Lavender Brown came hurtling out of nowhere and flung herself into Ron's arms. Hermione didn't have the patience to deal with this, she gave a tinkling laugh and began walking over to a table on the other side of the room.

"Coming Ginny?"

"No, thanks, I said I'd meet Dean," she replied, but Harry was soon at Hermione's side sitting down at the table.

"So how was your Christmas?" he asked.

"Oh, fine," she tried shrugging nonchalantly. "Nothing special. How was it at Won-Won's?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," said Harry. "Look, Hermione, can't you—"

"No, I can't," she deadpanned knowing all too well where this conversation was going. "So don't even ask."

"I thought maybe, you know, over Christmas—"

"Maybe…" She found herself conceding. Harry looked hopeful. She knew he was exhausted by the animosity between her and Ron and if she was being honest she was beginning to tire of it too. She felt bad that Harry was caught in the middle but she was hurt. Except now, with all the secrets she was hiding, did she have a right to be angry?

"Listen," he said sitting a little closer to her so that they wouldn't be overheard. "I have to tell you something…" so Hermione listened.

When he had finished, she was internally panicking. This was the moment where she would tell Harry everything, reveal the whole truth, come clean, wash her hands of it, but all she could stammer out was, "Err… well, maybe—"

"I know what you're going to say, maybe Snape was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he's doing…"

"Well…" _Not even close to what I was going to say_ , Hermione thought. "Yes."

"Ron's dad and Lupin think so too," Harry said grudgingly. "But this definitely proves Malfoy's planning something, you can't deny that."

"No, I can't," she answered slowly. Because she really, really couldn't. He was definitely up to something and she was certain that whatever it was, he was doing it in the Room of Requirement.

"And he's acting on Voldemort's orders, just like I said!"

"Hmm… did either of them actually mention Voldemort's name?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure… Snape definitely said 'your master,' and who else would that be?"

"I don't know," said Hermione, biting her lip. "Maybe his father?" Oh God, why was she saying things she didn't herself believe, of course, they were referring to Voldemort. She was screaming at herself, _just tell Harry, tell him everything_ , but she was paralyzed.

Her mind was racing with this new information.

Why would Snape make an Unbreakable Vow? He was in the Order and Dumbledore trusted him. She couldn't believe that he would want to help Draco kill Dumbledore, she just couldn't believe it. Although with her recent discovery it seemed like there was a real Death Eater trend…

 _His mother_ , she thought. Harry said Snape had promised his mother so… it must mean that Narcissa Malfoy knew that Draco had been given a suicide mission. Had she forced Snape to make the Vow?

"What is it?" Harry asked eagerly.

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing."

"I know that look, you've just figured something out."

Shaking her head again she insisted it was nothing. She really wanted him to leave Draco alone. She would fix it, talk to him… without Harry. "Maybe we should just leave it alone," she tried. "Just let it be."

"You're unbelievable, you are," said Harry, getting frustrated with her. "We'll see who's right. You'll be eating your words, Hermione, just like the Ministry." She glanced away nervously because if Harry ever found out just how much she knew she'd be doing more than eating her words. There'd be days, maybe months of groveling involved. "Oh yeah, I had a row with Rufus Scrimgeour as well…"

Hermione was livid hearing about the Minister's visit to the Burrow. After everything the Ministry had put Harry through last year, they had a great deal of nerve asking him for help now. She spent the rest of the evening chatting to Harry and cussing everyone out. She'd been so wrapped up in her own mind she'd forgotten just how much she missed her friend. Ginny joined them a little later and in the evening, after watching Ron struggle to free himself from Lavender's tentacles, he sat with them. The two of them didn't speak but he gave her a small smile which she reluctantly returned.

Then she headed to the library to revise for a little. The N.E.W.T.S were right around the corner and there was no time like the present.

* * *

After reassuring Nott that he'd give up his 'fascination with the Mudblood', he'd returned to the castle and stayed up late into the night reading a Picture of Dorian Gray. He understood why Hermione had given it to him and he really wished he hadn't read it. The reasons for wishing so were numerous but among them, the worst was that it made him wonder if she had been spending time with him because she thought she had to save him from himself. Like her S.P.E.W campaign… or, like Neville Longbottom. He didn't want to be her pity project.

He was soon distracted from those questions when the first few Slytherins began to floo back home in the late afternoon. Then suddenly, everyone was back, unpacking their trunks, participating in a competition of show and tell of what gifts they'd received or things they'd done over the holidays.

After having conjured two glasses, Blaise poured himself and Draco the rest of the contents of the firewhiskey bottle he'd brought on Christmas day. Then his friend sat on the sofa next to Pansy, who immediately snuggled up to him. The charmed coin began burning a hole in his pocket, but there were too many eyes around to take it out. He'd do it later.

Millicent Bulstrode was regaling everyone with how wonderful her ski trip had been in the Alps while Tracey Davis was proudly displaying an expensive pendant her parents had bought her. He looked to the other side of the room to find Crabbe and Goyle cornering first year's and looting their trunks for candy they'd gotten over the holidays. Those two lugs were growing bigger by the day, and not all of that growth was vertical. Nott, for whatever reason, was absent and Draco could only assume it was because he had Prefect duties to carry out.

He was on his second glass of firewhiskey when Astoria Greengrass finished describing the highlights of the New Year party she'd attended and asked how everyone else's was. Normally the most boastful, this year, Draco sat in silence, listening to the others. He certainly couldn't tell anyone what he'd been doing—pined over a Mudblood, plotted to kill the headmaster, read a muggle book—nope, wrong crowd.

Pansy raised her chin with a haughty look before going into detail about how she'd spent her New Year's Eve. "And Blaise came with me of course," she finished giving him a soft peck on his cheek. It was nice to see Pansy happy for a change but it still felt a little awkward seeing them like this together. In fact, Blaise himself looked a little uncomfortable when Pansy bestowed such public displays of affection on him. But the poor bloke was so besotted with her all he could do was clear this throat and laugh humourlessly.

"Well you'll never believe who asked me out over Christmas break," Daphne piped up. Draco wondered what happened to the fellow she was seeing over in Durmstrang. All eyes turned to her, waiting. Seeing as she had everyone's undivided attention she announced with pride, "Cormac McLaggen. His uncle works with the Minister of Magic."

"Him?" Pansy scoffed disbelievingly. "His interests lie elsewhere."

Astoria narrowed her eyes at the Slytherin girl. "It's true, he wrote her," she said defending her sister. Daphne flicked her hair in triumph.

"Well," Pansy snickered. "He must like to play doubles because he was busy wrapped around Hermione Granger at Slughorn's party."

Blaise's eyes flicked to him.

"You're lying!" Daphne huffed, turning red with anger.

"She's exaggerating," Blaise interjected trying to protect the younger girl's feelings... or, Draco thought, _is he trying to protect me?_

"I am not!" Pansy sat up straight. "I saw them snogging—"

"It's not true—"

"Under some mistletoe." Pansy finished.

Sensing the escalating tension in the room, Astoria said innocently, "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. So, were there a lot of interesting people at Slughorn's party? I heard—"

"You're a liar Pansy Parkinson!" Daphne hissed.

"Am not!" she retorted sharply. "Don't believe me?" she challenged leaning toward Daphne. "Ask Parvati Patil, she told me the whole story! Granger herself told Parvati, she only likes 'really good' Quidditch players, so when he asked her, she said yes, although I'm sure it was just to make Weasley jealous. Everyone knows she's out to get rid of Brown. And Blaise saw it too, he was at the party with me—tell them, Blaise." But when she looked to her boyfriend for support he merely cleared his throat and gave her an indiscernible shake of the head.

Catching herself Pansy sat back down and curled into Blaise. "I could be wrong," she added softly. "Maybe it was a dare or a prank… probably nothing going on between them."

Daphne looked furious. She stomped off to the girl's dormitory with Astoria hastily trailing behind.

Throughout the conversation, Draco hadn't so much as blinked, but there was bile rising up his throat and maybe he was going to throw up. Maybe he couldn't handle more than one whiskey… or maybe he was going to have another breakdown. Setting his glass down, he excused himself looking bored.

He went outside into the corridor and leaned against the wall, letting his head fall back. Images of Hermione under mistletoe, pasted to Cormac, wouldn't stop flashing through his mind. He wanted to maim McLaggen, cut him to ribbons, but who he really wanted to hurt was her. Just who did the little Mudblood think she was?

She didn't have the right to kiss anyone.

Did she think she could dangle him on a string, bat her fucking eyelashes at him, have him twisted around her pinky finger? He pressed his eyes closed. She had no right to have her tongue down that oaf's throat, no fucking right. Didn't she know— _didn't she fucking know?_

He suddenly remembered the coin. He took it out of his pocket and read the message.

He went to his room to get the cursed muggle book.

Then he marched off to the library, intent on ridding himself of the book and her once and for all.


	19. Down the Rabbit Hole

A/N: This chapter is M rated and contains dubious consent. I appreciate the continued support for this fanfic. It was difficult to write a chapter like this so please be kind.

* * *

There was a jewelry box hidden somewhere in Hermione's bedroom in London, with nothing inside except for a dancing ballerina. Her grandmother gifted it to her on her ninth birthday. It had a little silver lock and key, as well as a small hidden sleeve. Having no jewelry to hide, she'd open the box just to watch the ballerina dance. She'd spin round and round, on this endless loop, to sad melancholic music.

This was how she felt. Like she was on a strange merry-go-round she couldn't get down from. Every time she was anywhere near Draco Malfoy she'd end up lost, unable to look at him one moment, staring at him the next; the pallor of his skin, the bow of his lips, the grey-blue of his eyes, the line of his jaw, the wisps of his blonde hair. And every time she was nowhere near him, she was haunted by the ghost of his presence.

Had it really only been last night that they were at the Three Broomsticks huddled up in a dark corner of the pub, his hand touching hers, asking her if he was in the equation.

And then… whispering her name, looking at her like that. He had no right. Because out of all the nasty things he'd ever said or done to her, saying her name had been the cruelest. She heard it even now, echoing in her memory, tempting her.

But she couldn't.

In a way, she was grateful for Luna showing up. She didn't want to think about what she'd have done if they weren't interrupted. _There are some things you can never take back._ Draco Malfoy would be one of those things.

It'd be like going down the rabbit hole.

And yet, after nearly two hours of failing to concentrate on Ancient Runes, she'd messaged him on the coin asking him to meet her in the library. She hadn't received a reply. It was a stupid idea. What was she thinking—to ask him to come here just to, what, see him for a few minutes, say goodnight? Letting her forehead fall on her open book she admitted that she'd most definitely lost her mind.

Everything was a mess.

It crossed her mind that maybe Ron was really to blame. If he'd never gotten together with that god-awful succubus… Why hadn't Luna seen the fairy dust with Ron? She loved Ron, she did. She'd imagined how nice it would be to hold his hand, have him smile at her, make her laugh, kiss his freckles, curl up in the common room together. She didn't want to do any of that with Draco. She was too scared to speak of the things she thought of doing with him. She'd come very close to asking Ginny what it means when you want to strip a boy bare, hold him, smell him, bite him, breathe him, drown in him…

She was so lost in her musings that she didn't realize the library was closing till Madam Pince found her and issued a stern warning. Packing her bags, she vowed to stop thinking of the blonde-haired boy and fairy dust, once and for all. But the fates were conspiring against her because as soon as she stepped out into the open corridor he was there, leaning against the wall, waiting for her.

He had come.

"Draco," said Hermione surprised. Her eyes darted around, anyone could see them standing in the corridor. "Not here," she said leading him to a nearby classroom. She whispered _Alohomora_ and unlocked the door.

"I read your book," he spat as soon as they were inside.

Hermione was confused. "Again?"

"No, for the first time."

"You said—"

"I lied," he scowled tossing the book carelessly onto the desk. He stepped into her. "But I get it now. I figured it out. I'm one of your little house elves, a new project for you. Trying to save me from myself, trying to save my soul. Granger to the bloody rescue."

Hermione didn't understand his hostility. "I'm just trying to help, I care about you, we… we're friends."

" _Friends_?" he hissed in a low voice, the slight scent of Firewhiskey on his breath.

"You've been drinking," she huffed. "On a school night and on school grounds. Alcohol isn't permitted—"

A growl pushed up through his throat and the sound reverberated between them.

"Let me make something perfectly clear to you. We are not friends. I will never be your friend. You are a thorn in my side, a bloody pebble in my shoe. I hate you, Hermione Granger, you mean nothing to me, _nothing_."

Each word cut deeply through Hermione like a sharp blade. She was on the verge of tears. Her mind was spinning, she thought there was something between them, something inexplicable and she allowed herself to feel it, despite knowing she shouldn't. Then all of that warmth she'd had for him began to boil and burn her and then suddenly she hated him, never wanted to see or speak to him again.

"Fine!" she choked, shoving him. "Let this be a lesson, a reminder to never consider you, Draco Malfoy, worthy of any kindness or consideration! I don't know why I even bothered. You are a failure in every sense of the word and a bitter disappointment, a coward—"

Draco's lips fell violently against hers in a bruising kiss. But she couldn't, she still needed to hate him, hurt him even. She pursed her lips, denying him, trying to tear away from his mouth but then one hand was buried in her hair and the other was on her jaw holding her in place.

* * *

Draco could hear her words ringing in his ears, muted by the pulsing, gushing sound of blood. He had failed to catch the snitch, to best Potter at a duel, to outsmart Hermione, to repair the vanishing cabinet, to protect his mother and he was failing at this too, failing at being a Death Eater just like everything else he ever bloody did.

And he just wanted her to shut up.

He pressed into her, nipping her bottom lip, biting till he could taste blood. She whimpered into his mouth. Her moans, her blood, the scent of gardenia's on her skin, it all stirred this perverse desire within him; worse than his fevered daydreams, because this was real and he couldn't wake up. He groaned, crushing his hips into hers. Hermione shuddered.

The sensation sobered him and he pulled himself away.

He was almost panting. She was holding her hand to her mouth and staring with wide glistening eyes. Still as stone.

He felt an eternity go by.

Then suddenly, she came to life.

"You don't get to kiss me!" she yelled. "You don't get to even touch me, you don't get to—"

"But McLaggen does?" he said, his anger resurfacing. Hermione was taken aback. She opened and closed her mouth, like a fish out of water. He watched her flounder and took pleasure in it. He'd finally found a question she didn't know how to answer.

"It wasn't like that—"

"First Krum, then Weasley, now McLaggen. Didn't know you were such a slag for large dumb Quidditch players." And he was so incensed and out of his mind with jealousy that he didn't care that he was being cruel. He wanted to hurt her. "Probably why Brown is with Weasley, she's not as fickle as you are."

Her mouth hung open and then she was screaming again, "How dare you!" She was slapping him, pounding his chest with her fists and he was seething, images of Cormac and her taunting him. His ogre arms all over her, touching his Mudblood. _His_.

He kissed her again, hard. She gasped as her back met the wall. He slid his tongue against hers.

Breaking the kiss, he asked, "Was he good Granger, did you like it?"

"Stop it, just stop," she whispered. Her voice sounded hoarse as if she'd been screaming for hours.

"Did he touch you?"

She was shaking her head, tears threatening to spill.

"No?" he whispered into her ear. He bit down on her exposed neck then licked the tender skin of where he'd bitten her. She hissed. Then he was undoing her robes, letting them fall.

He was vaguely aware of her hands pushing and pulling, of her whimpering and whispering, "We can't, God, Draco, we can't…" He heard the words but didn't understand. Because she knew, she knew this would happen.

It was all too much for him. He just needed her to stop fighting it, be still, he just needed a minute to touch her. He cast a wandless sticking charm and her hands were against the wall above her head.

This was better, so much better.

He allowed his hands to roam all over her body, over her clothes. He dragged them down the small of her waist to the curve of her hips and up again to her chest. Rising and falling, trembling like her bottom lip.

"Don't." Her voice was wavering. "We have to pretend it isn't there."

He sighed deeply, losing patience. "No, no more pretending," he whispered and then he ripped the buttons of her shirt open. She was… perfect, just how he'd imagined. He touched her skin and searched for warmth. She flinched as he traced the thin white scar over her breasts. Dolohov. It occurred to him that maybe if he had to kill anyone, he'd like to kill him.

He closed his eyes, burying his nose in the crevice of her neck. He could only think of gardenias here. Gardenias and her pretty little neck. Everything else fell away. He could breathe like this, he could forget. He dropped to his knees.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked, her voice breaking with panic. Instead of answering, he yanked her skirt down in one swift motion letting it fall to her feet. Her lips parted, maybe she wanted to scream at him, for help, for it to stop, but she only stared in shock as he made lecherous scrutiny of her half-naked form.

Her shirt hung off her, ruffled by his ministrations.

He was drunk with her.

He placed his fingers on her dainty ankles trailing them up and down, a gentle caress of her legs. They were shaking and he didn't know how she was still able to stand. Hermione whimpered as he ran his lips against her creamy skin, the tip of his nose caressing and inhaling her. He raised his eyes to look into hers then it fell to the apex of her thighs, at the light blue cotton that covered her. He heard her breath hitch.

"Don't," she breathed, following his gaze. And he knew she meant it. Knew she was afraid. But he was so tired of being afraid.

He leaned in and swept his tongue along the cotton of her knickers. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. He pressed a kiss there. He wondered if she could feel his mouth through the fabric. Then his teeth brushed against her clit and her eyes flew open. "Dra-co," she panted. He shuddered at the sound of his name and the way it jerked out of her. The irony wasn't lost on him. He was on his knees and he had never felt a control like this. Power.

If he could just taste her once…

He grabbed the hem of her knickers and began pulling down.

"Oh God, no," she trembled squeezing her legs closed, "I can't."

But it was no use fighting. He tugged it all the way down. Taking her calf, he pulled her leg over his shoulder, bringing her hips to his mouth. She was shaking. She tried squeezing her thighs closed again, but he held them apart, his fingers digging into the soft of her flesh. He felt the warm wet of his tongue dip in and out of the warm wet of her _._ She let out a mangled noise. Draco was suddenly so calm, so far away from himself. He could only think of their warm wet meeting each other, of kissing it, biting it, lapping at it.

Everything had fallen quiet. Even she'd become quiet. All he could hear was heavy panting and the sounds of his tongue. He liked it like this, without the words, without the screaming. He learned her. There were some things that made her gasp and some that made her sigh. Then his tongue began to stroke her faster and he could feel her legs begin to quiver uncontrollably.

Then she was moaning or crying, he didn't know. Her hips writhing in a feverish frenzy, moving to meet his mouth on their own accord. He had to steady her.

He heard her say, "Please, no," and choke his name. Her knee almost buckled as he felt tremors course through her, a pulsing underneath his tongue. A contorted cry tore out of her.

He stopped. He could still hear his heart pounding in his ears. He licked his lips, the last taste of her. He moved her leg off his shoulder and placed it back onto the floor. Breathing over her crotch, he brushed his mouth to the skin just above, and then to her stomach and trailed a line of light kisses up to her mouth. She parted it ever so slightly, just enough for him to run his tongue along the edges of her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, cheeks splotchy and flushed. She looked drunk too.

Draco caught her forearms as he released them from the spell.

"You shouldn't have," she said weakly, turning away. She was putting her clothes back on. He watched wondering if he should do it for her since he was the one who undressed her. He felt… numb. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

"Hermione," he whispered, reaching for her hand but she was already pulling away.

He walked at a steady pace back to the dungeons in a daze. He showered, brushed his teeth and dressed for bed. He had no trouble falling asleep but it all came crashing down on him in the morning like a heavy veiled fog was lifting and the full force of what he'd done had hit him.

Merlin.

He ruined everything.


	20. The Hangover

Hermione leaned against the marble tiles of the shower walls. She'd been under the water for so long her skin was beginning to wrinkle.

She thought she could scrub the memory away but she could still feel Draco everywhere... his hands prying her legs apart, his lips, his tongue, his hot breath and the reverberations of his moans as he licked her.

He'd marked her, his fingerprints on her thighs. She found herself touching them, wondering if this is what he had meant all those times he'd called her filthy. If he imagined leaving blemishes all over her, staining her skin with his presence.

Her fingers trailed up in between her thighs and she shuddered.

Hermione had never even touched herself there before, let alone...

Was it normal… did Dean do that to Ginny, did Ron do that to Lavender?... Had Draco done that to Pansy, and if so, how many times? Was it exactly like that or different? Had she felt the same thing when he touched her there… had she… _reciprocated…_ given him the feeling Draco had just given her, the feeling of coming apart, had they done more?

Had they slept together?

Thinking of him with Pansy left a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

And she was afraid. Terrified of that feeling. That's why she'd told him not to, practically begged him not to cross that line because after this she couldn't pretend. If she thought the bracelet felt heavier than it weighed, well this was crushing, a devastating secret.

He just shouldn't have.

She'd tried to warn him, tell him, but he had made it so hard for her to care. She knew at a point she just gave in, let go and it had felt deliriously good. She'd never felt anything like it and it had exhausted her the way he did.

With trembling hands, she stepped out, dried herself with a plush towel, changed quickly and crawled into bed, careful not to wake the others. Closing her eyes, she thought about how mortified she was after. She couldn't even look at him and she'd see him tomorrow in class and only be able to see him between her legs. On his knees.

 _The irony of it all, she thought, is that it wasn't too long ago when I'd imagined it would be the perfect revenge._

Except it felt more like they'd both lost something.

Maybe their minds.

* * *

He felt nauseous. An inescapable dread weighed him. He'd be dead by noon, by Potter's hand or Weasley's. It was a toss-up. At least he hoped he would. That would be the easiest way out of the Dark Lord's mission. And he certainly didn't want to live after what he had done to her. He was drowning in guilt and shame, but then there was a part of him that could still smell gardenias, that swallowed down the phantom taste of her wet. It was the same twisted gut-wrenching feeling that swayed him onto his knees last night—the part of him that would've done it all over again.

He pulled the blanket over his face, unable to stop reliving it. He had been angry, so angry and he'd screamed out his hatred for her until there was nothing left except the longing again. She shouldn't have said he was a disappointment or a coward. That had been his breaking point, much too close to the truth. He'd kissed her if he could call it a kiss and then…

"Come on," grumbled Blaise pulling the blanket off him. "You're not missing breakfast. It's a new year, new start."

Draco was about to object but didn't see the point in delaying his execution. He only prayed that his parents would never find out why. He could imagine their reaction to finding out that his son was murdered by Harry Potter for sexually violating his Mudblood friend.

 _Merlin... was that what I did?_

Was there no part of her that felt the same way, that wanted the same thing? Sometimes when they were alone together, the way she looked at him made him believe it was there, floating between them, and he only had to acknowledge it, lay it out in front of her... but then she'd kissed someone else.

He hated that. Hated McLaggen. Couldn't stand the thought of it, even now.

So he'd wanted to punish her, claim her and he couldn't stop.

Hadn't he admitted this, hadn't he told Theo he didn't know how?

Clearly, she hadn't known because she told him to stop, and he almost wanted to laugh at the idea that she had expected him to listen.

He'd cast a sticking charm on her instead… Merlin, he'd restrained her—

Blaise, came back to find him still in bed. "What the fuck," he groused. "Get ready, everyone's almost left. Pansy and I are waiting for you."

Draco dragged himself to the bathroom. He removed his jumper, standing at the sink to wash his face. He didn't have time to shower but didn't need one to be Avada-ed anyway. He made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror, repulsed by his own reflection.

He hunched over, his hands clutching either side of the white marble. He watched the water running down the drain wishing he could disappear just as easily.

He closed his eyes.

It had felt right at the time like they'd both wanted each other, but the further he stepped away from the feeling and remembered the sequence of events, the more he realized how wrong he'd been. She hadn't wanted it at all, hadn't wanted him, never would. She only desperately wanted to get away. And maybe that's what cut the deepest—not that he'd lowered himself to wanting a Mudblood, not that Potter and Weasley would probably kill him for it, not even that he'd hurt her, possibly traumatized her—no, what devastated him was the complete and utter rejection of Hermione Granger, the knowledge that she didn't feel the same way, that she never had and never would.

And wasn't that just so fantastically fucking selfish of him? A tear fell into the sink. He really hadn't meant to, he had thought… or is that just what he wanted to think, because how could she feel anything for him, knowing what she knew? After everything, he'd ever said to her and done… He looked at his bare left forearm. Hidden beneath a glamor charm there was the truth of the kind of person he really was. He slid his wand out and removed the spell. He stared at the curling snake with disgust. He didn't want this anymore. He didn't want to die with it on his arm.

* * *

Blaise Zabini was not a morning person but if there was anything he had learned from his mother it was that appearances meant everything and he took particular pride in his. So, he forced himself to wake early without fail, groom himself appropriately and be one of the first Slytherins at the Great hall for breakfast looking nothing but immaculate. The only other person he knew to be as vain as he was, was Malfoy, but recently his friend had been slipping.

Pansy was sitting next to him, or more like she was almost on him.

"What's taking him so long?" she whined. He didn't blame her, he wanted to whine too, but he figured that if he badgered Malfoy enough, he'd start eating properly again. His patience lasted all of two minutes.

"Let me go see what his Highness is doing," he muttered under his breath.

Blaise went to the bathroom door and banged on it, "Draco, come on we're going to miss breakfast!"

There was no response. He kicked it in annoyance. He waited. He banged on the door again and called Draco's name. He frowned. Maybe something was wrong.

"I'm coming in," he warned because the last time he'd barged in on Theo, he got a lot more than he bargained for. Drawing his wand, he unlocked the door and opened it a crack.

"Draco?"

 _FUCK!_

Blaise burst in. Draco was sprawled out on the floor and there was blood everywhere. He fell kneeling, his hands shaking. There was blood on one side of his face, all over his left arm, on the floor, in the sink, on his wand.

 _Merlin, what the fuck did you do?_ For a split-second Blaise thought he'd tried cutting himself, but then he looked at it his forearm again and under the blood was a tattoo. He recoiled recognizing it as the Dark Mark. It was strange to see it because if he'd been honest he hadn't truly believed Malfoy on the train or maybe he just hadn't wanted to.

He heard footsteps.

"Seriously, what's taking so—" Pansy clamped a hand over her mouth, gasping in horror.

He yelled at her to get help. Blaise was panicking. He had to hide the Dark Mark. He used his wand to clean the blood. Then he realized that Pansy was still standing there, paralyzed, her eyes wide open.

"PANSY!" He bellowed. "GET POMFREY!"

It was loud enough to startle her and she ran out.

The flesh around the mark was marred and his arm was already beginning to bleed again. He ran to his trunk, taking out a bottle of dittany he'd packed for Quidditch injuries. He had a fear of scarring and it was odd that his vanity was proving to be potentially life-saving. He applied it to the wound and in a matter of seconds, the flesh began to knit together. There was something wrong though; the skin around the mark had somewhat healed but the mark itself was swollen and dark, and red veins spread-out as if the snake tattooed on his arm was excreting venom. Blaise couldn't think. He only knew he had to hide it. He had just cast a disillusionment charm when he heard footsteps again.

Pansy appeared in the doorway and behind her was Professor Snape. For once the wizard's stony exterior wavered and he looked afraid. Pushing Pansy aside, he knelt over Draco, opposite Blaise. He drew his wand and muttered something while tracing it over the gash on his head.

"What happened here?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

"I don't know," Blaise explained quickly. "I found him like this."

"Is he going to be ok?" asked Pansy. Her cheeks were wet as if she'd been crying.

Snape ran his wand over Draco, his forehead creased in thought. Blaise watched him quietly knowing there was nothing he could do.

"He's burning up. I have to take him to Pomfrey. Zabini, you come with me. Parkinson, go to class."

"No," Pansy said calmly as Snape levitated Draco. "I'm coming."

"Ms. Parkinson—"

"I'm not leaving him!" she snapped.

Snape scowled but didn't argue because there was something in her voice that left no room for discussion. The three hurried out of the dungeons and headed to the hospital wing with his unconscious friend in tow. Classes for the day had already begun, so the castle was fairly empty. Blaise prayed that no one would see them.

Judging by the look on Professor Snape's face, Draco's condition was bad. When they arrived at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey looked equally as worried. He was still unconscious, deathly pale and a sheen of perspiration covered him. The nurse returned within seconds, her hands clasping numerous vials.

"Professor Snape, I need to know exactly what happened," she said in a grave tone.

"I do not know. Mr. Malfoy was found lying, bloodied, on the bathroom floor. There was a deep gash on his head, which I healed. I'm assuming from a fall."

"That doesn't explain his high fever," she said uncorking a vial and mixing it with another.

"No," he replied evenly. "It doesn't."

"If that's all you can tell me you may leave now. I have a patient to take care of."

Snape turned to go, the two students followed hesitantly, Blaise because he feared that Madam Pomfrey would discover the Dark Mark and Pansy because she seemed not to want to leave Draco's side.

When they were outside, the Professor rounded on them.

"There is something you two aren't telling me," he said carefully eyeing them both. "What. Is. It?"

"Nothing sir," Blaise replied flatly caught in Snape's chilling stare. Then he thought he felt a sort of uncomfortable tugging sensation which made him glance away.

The Professor pursed his lips, looking at Pansy. She was looking at the floor.

"Go to class. I will be there shortly," he said in a terse voice. "Tell no one what you have seen."

Then he left, his robes billowing behind him.

Blaise looked to Pansy.

She was crying again.

* * *

Hermione walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts with her head bowed and took a seat in between Harry and Ernie Macmillan. Ron was seated at the table too. They still weren't speaking to each other but she gave him a small smile when she caught him looking at her. She didn't have time to think about anything else because there was a knot in her stomach tightening with every glance at the door. She was on pins and needles, wavering between wanting very much to see Draco, and wanting to never see him again.

To be honest, she'd considered feigning sick just to avoid having any kind of confrontation about last night but then she imagined all the work she'd miss and couldn't bring herself to do it. Plus, she'd reasoned, she'd have to face him eventually.

Hermione peered at the door for the fifth time, it was twenty minutes past and he still hadn't shown up. What was bizarre was that Professor Snape was late as well… and so was Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask where the Slytherins were when Harry beat her to it.

"Where's Malfoy?" he asked, his brows furrowing. "And Snape?"

Hermione shrugged. She glimpsed the Slytherin table and the vacant seat beside Theodore Nott. She realized that the black-haired boy was looking at the door too, a frown on his face.

A few minutes later Ron made a subtle nod toward the door, "Parkinson and Zabini just got here."

Hermione's pulse started to race, she expected Draco to appear behind them but after a few seconds, crestfallen she realized that they'd come alone. She cocked her head to their table. Nott and Zabini were speaking, their heads bent close as Pansy sat alone staring blankly ahead, her eyes red and swollen. Hermione could tell immediately that she'd been crying.

Just then Harry nudged her and asked, "What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know."

Hermione bit her lip still staring at Pansy when suddenly the Slytherin girl raised her head. Her heart skipped a beat as their eyes met because Hermione understood in that moment that something awful had happened to Draco.

Snape entered the classroom fifteen minutes later with no apology or explanation to where he'd been. When Potions was over and they'd stepped into the corridor Harry tapped her on the shoulder lightly.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

She found she couldn't answer except for a smile and nod. Harry seemed to believe nothing was amiss and they all trudged on.

When lunchtime came around Hermione hoped to find Draco in the Great Hall but he wasn't there at lunch either. While she'd been distracted by his absence in class, now she was frantic with worry. An internal dialogue was playing on a loop in her head, one voice insisting that it was nothing—perhaps he was trying to avoid her—but the other voice argued that by the stark look on Pansy Parkinson's face, something was terribly wrong.

Excusing herself Hermione decided she needed to be alone, needed to find him. She was walking in the direction of the girl's bathroom, about to turn the corner when she heard a girl's voice, one she immediately recognized as Pansy Parkinson's.

"You're overreacting," she said sounding a little flustered.

"It's a simple question Pans."

"He looked like he was dead," she said in a softer tone. "I was just worried."

"Yes or no," he deadpanned. "Do you still have feelings for him?"

Pansy was silent and when she finally spoke it was so low that Hermione almost missed it.

"I don't know."

Blaise didn't respond. Then she heard him walk away. Pansy was crying softly.

Hermione leaned against the stone wall paralyzed as she could only process one sentence from the conversation she had overheard— _he looked like he was dead._

Had something happened to Draco? But they didn't say his name so they could've been speaking about someone else. They could've been talking about... about...

No.

Who else would Blaise accuse Pansy of still having feelings for? It was Draco. It was Draco and she'd said he looked like he was dead.

 _He looked like he was dead._

 _He looked like he was—_

"Eavesdropping Mudblood?" spat Pansy rounding the corner and startling Hermione. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes were puffy.

"No," Hermione responded sharply, pushing past her. "I was just going to use the bathroom."

"Wait," she called. Despite Hermione's better judgment, she stopped. Why? Well, partly because she desperately wanted to ask Pansy where Draco was and partly because the last time the two of them had spoken it had been very revealing.

"I get why he gave it to you," she sniffed, wiping the tears off her cheek, her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. "But... why are you wearing it?"

Hermione blinked. "It's pretty," she shrugged.

Her face twisted into a snarl. "Trying to make Weasley jealous?"

Hermione clenched her fist willing herself not to react to that outrageous statement. She tried commenting nonchalantly, "So, he wasn't in class today."

Pansy's face fell. "He's… ill."

Hermione didn't believe that. How could he be ill, she was with him just last night. Looking back up at Pansy she noticed the girl was looking at her peculiarly.

"Oh," Pansy said softly sounding like she'd just figured out something important.

Hermione adjusted her book strap on her shoulder nervously and turned to leave realizing it had been a bad idea to mention Draco.

"After everything he's done!" Pansy yelled at her back as she walked away. "You're not smart Granger, you're an idiot!... You both are!"


	21. Dreaming

There had been a lot of essays to mark over Christmas and thanks to one Miss Granger, who always seemed to hand in double the required length of parchment, it had been a dull and tedious process. But this was how Severus always spent the holidays... very much alone.

He had just been leaving the office to go begin his Defense Against the Dark Arts class when a distressed Pansy Parkinson ran in. Upon seeing him she began to cry and it was difficult to ascertain the reason in between all her blubbering. What he did gather was that something had happened to Draco. Dropping the rolls of parchment, he immediately followed her out.

When he arrived, Lucius' son looked close to death. It had frightened him. He barely registered that Zabini was there too until he was kneeling opposite him. He only grew more concerned when Pomfrey had confirmed that he was running a high fever.

Perhaps the two Slytherins weren't telling him something, but what?

Outside the hospital wing, he'd asked them. To his utter disgust, Miss Parkinson had once again broken down in tears. He suspected the boy knew but wasn't telling him... if only he hadn't looked away so quickly. It had been more difficult to read his thoughts than he'd anticipated. Inside the mind of Blaise Zabini, everything was untidy and nothing seemed to be compact or laid out in chronological order. It was odd how it didn't reflect the orderly manner with which he presented himself.

If the D.A.D.A professor didn't know any better, he'd say it was a very crafty use of Occlumency.

In fact, Severus had only been able to grasp a fleeting memory, of Draco, sitting in the Slytherin common room with a glass in hand, between Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis. The former looked furious, while the latter looked amused. Draco was staring vacantly, as though he were far away. Severus couldn't see the significance of it or how it was relevant to what had happened to him this morning.

He was certain only of three things: firstly, that Draco had been responsible for cursing Katie Bell, secondly, that he was working on a plan to kill Dumbledore, one which he didn't care to share, and finally, that he was growing as Dumbledore had predicted, desperate.

Severus rushed to Dumbledore's office with these thoughts in mind. The situation at this point was precarious. Draco had proven to be a lot more dangerous than either two wizards ever realized. He had made an attempt on Dumbledore's life, one that endangered others. Snape could only blame himself, he should've known that the boy's arrogance and anger over his father's imprisonment would induce him to carry out the Dark Lord's mission so readily.

And now look at what he'd done.

It was clear that whatever had occurred, Draco was responsible. At first, he suspected that perhaps he'd been handling another cursed object… it would explain his unconscious state but not the fever.

No, there was something he was missing.

He reflected on the memory he had stolen from the young Zabini. It must have some relevance or it wouldn't have been on the precipice of his thoughts when he'd asked the question.

What is it he asked exactly? He had not specifically questioned him about what had happened to Draco, no, he had said there was something they weren't telling him.

He saw the moment being played out again in his mind, carefully this time, giving every detail his attention.

 _They are in the common room, Draco, Parkinson, the Greengrass girls, Davis, and, of course, Zabini himself... one of the Greengrass sisters is angry… angry with Miss Parkinson. She accuses her of lying._

That is all he was able to catch a glimpse of.

It made no sense to him, so he decided the memory was useless to the predicament at hand.

Upon entering the circular room, he found Dumbledore listening to chamber music while leafing through a muggle magazine.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore smiled as if expecting him.

Snape was infuriated. He should have never agreed to Dumbledore's request. Everything was going to hell. Draco was going mad, possibly one misstep away from becoming a murderer, and, or, killing himself while here they were playing a grand game of wizard's chess, moving these idiotic children around like some pawns on the board.

"Lucius' son is in the infirmary. I believe he's been cursed."

"Handling hexed necklaces again?" Dumbledore mused softly peering back down at his magazine.

Severus narrowed his eyes at the headmaster. "May I remind you that I have made an Unbreakable Vow?"

With a heavy sigh, the headmaster put away the magazine and turned off the music with a flick of his wand.

"What has happened Severus?"

"Parkinson came wailing into my office like a banshee, her and Blaise Zabini found him this morning in the boy's dormitory bathroom, unconscious and bleeding, from a head injury—which I healed—except I don't believe he simply fell. I had no choice but to take Draco to Pomfrey."

"And what did she have to say?" Dumbledore probed.

"It is as I suspected. He is running a high fever, probably the consequence of a curse or an infection."

"Is it possible that perhaps Blaise or—?"

"No. They are not responsible… yet it is inexplicable. He had no other signs of physical injury and there were no Dark objects to be seen around. He only had his wand."

Peering over his half-moon spectacles Dumbledore asked quietly, "And what of the Dark Mark?"

Snape studied the headmaster's expression and understood what he was driving at. "You believe it is the Mark that made him ill?"

"I do not know what to believe…" Dumbledore replied, reaching for a bowl of sherbet lemons and offering it to Severus.

He made no movement to take one. He eyed the older wizard disdainfully while he unwrapped the sweet and popped it into his mouth. Seeming to have satisfied his sugar cravings, Dumbledore sat back in his chair, deep in thought.

"I do not think it possible for the Dark Lord to kill us so easily," Snape scoffed, remembering Igor Karkaroff. "Otherwise some would have met their deaths much sooner."

Dumbledore was humming in thought. "I do not believe it possible either. No, I have a different theory… I wonder if the Mark reacts when someone attempts to remove it, a type of defense mechanism if you will.

Severus blinked.

He had never considered this. Never once having thought to rid himself of the Mark, he'd only allowed it to fade and still now he wore it as a reminder of all his mistakes; so he may suffer the deep anguish of regret for each day he lived and sweet Lily did not.

"Some time ago I was told—by a questionable source—that Barty Crouch Junior had almost been killed by his father," Dumbledore continued. "Apparently, before his son could be sent to Azkaban, in a fit of rage, he attempted to cut the Dark Mark from his arm…

"Of course, there were many rumors at the time revolving around Barty Crouch Senior and his family; some said that he had used the Cruciatus Curse against his son, for ruining his chances at becoming Minister of Magic, others, that he even tried casting a merciful killing curse to save him from the dementors, but what my informant told me was that when he had tried to rid his son of the Mark, Barty Crouch Junior doubled over in such pain that it rendered him unconscious and he entered Azkaban two days later still dizzy with fever."

The grey-haired wizard was looking at Severus again, waiting, perhaps, for him to confirm this story, but he had never heard of it or of anyone ever trying to remove the mark, and he certainly couldn't imagine the son of Lucius Malfoy ever wanting to do such a thing. He did not like how Dumbledore's explanations always left more unanswered questions.

"No... it is not possible," Snape said finally. "Even if it is true, Draco would not try such a thing. Why would he, when he is so enamored with the glory and honor of it all?" he sneered, the last words leaving his tongue in disgust.

"Perhaps our young Malfoy is not enjoying his apprenticeship as much as he believed he would and perhaps he is wise enough to know that it is not a simple matter of bowing out."

Severus wore a deep frown and thought again to what he had seen inside the mind of Blaise Zabini. This new information still gave no shape to it.

"I fear, Dumbledore, that we have missed something crucial."

"You may be right Severus but for now, I will see to it that Draco makes a full recovery."

With that promise, Snape left the headmaster's office. He was extremely late for his D.A.D.A class.

* * *

Hermione walked to the hospital wing quietly. She hated how she ended up there every flipping year, and this time she had actually pretended to be sick during Arithmancy to sneak over.

As she approached, she saw that the double doors were already open. She hadn't thought he'd have visitors while classes were in session so she peeked her head through. At the far end, a white curtain was pulled around a bed and the shadows of two people could be seen speaking in quiet murmurs behind it.

She could just hear bits and pieces of what they were saying and she edged closer to try to understand. Madam Pomfrey was saying something about blood replenishing potions and treating a fever… she couldn't get more than that because just then the curtain parted and out stepped Professor Dumbledore with Madam Pomfrey following after him.

"Hello Professor…" she trailed off as she glanced at the bed behind them.

 _Draco._

Dumbledore moved into her line of sight, blocking her view of him.

"Miss Granger," he smiled.

"I-I'm not feeling well," Hermione lied. _Badly_. She licked her lips and shifted nervously to one side trying to catch a glimpse of his blonde hair again.

"Is that so?" he asked, his bright eyes twinkling at her.

"Oh dear, well sit down," interjected Madam Pomfrey. "Let me put these bottles away, I'll be right back."

Hermione did as she was told, she moved to the adjacent bed and sat down. She began glancing around the room, hoping against all odds that Dumbledore would just leave so she'd have a chance to see Draco. She pursed her lips as he stood smiling brightly at her.

Hermione was reluctant to look at him, afraid that he'd see right through the lie and ask what she was really doing there. Instead, he asked, "Care for a chocolate frog?"

"No, thank you," she replied politely.

"Ah, but it is a universal remedy. The best cure for all maladies… it is why I've left some for our young Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione jumped at the chance to ask what was wrong with him, after all, Dumbledore had brought it up, it was perfectly natural to be inquisitive about these things—curiosity and all that.

Licking her lips, she asked, "What's wrong with him?"

"Many things," he answered with a sad smile. "Yet, not all afflictions are physical in nature, are they? It is much easier to remedy those... but other afflictions… those are not as simple."

Hermione's stomach dropped. Many things? She didn't understand, she felt he was trying to tell her something important but she could only focus on these other questions that had yet to be answered like, will he be alright, what happened, is he hurt, is he in pain?

"Tell me," Dumbledore spoke looking at her peculiarly. "What affliction ails you?"

Hermione hesitated.

Could she really lie to Dumbledore?

Draco's words sounded in her head. _You're an awful liar._

She opened her mouth to confess that she wasn't actually ill, hell, she was about to tell him about that time she shoplifted candy when she was eight when just at that moment Madam Pomfrey returned.

"Well," said Dumbledore regarding the nurse. "I shall leave you to attend to your patients, I trust they will be safe in your hands."

Hermione released a breath of relief.

Madam Pomfrey gave him a reassuring smile. "You have my word, Albus."

"Goodbye," he said to them both with a twinkle in his eyes.

As soon as the headmaster shut the door behind him, she turned to Hermione and asked, "What seems to be wrong dear?"

Her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink, she opened her mouth but no words came out. She closed it, becoming even more uncomfortable. This was mortifying.

"It's that time of the month," she stuttered, glancing around nervously. "And I-I'm having really bad cramps and I just thought…" _I'd die from embarrassment._

Thankfully Madam Pomfrey merely gave her a soothing pat on the back and a potion for the pain assuring her that it was all perfectly natural to feel some discomfort.

"Feel free to lie down for a little until the potion takes effect."

Dropping her head onto the pillow, Hermione couldn't believe she was not only lying to everyone but now she was taking a potion which she didn't need and skipping precious class time. She could only imagine the important work she would miss and the homework she'd have to catch up on.

Her world was officially spiraling out of control.

Luckily, after having seen Hermione take the potion and lie down in bed, Madam Pomfrey excused herself and left the room. She jumped at the opportunity, making her way behind the white curtain to Draco's bedside.

Her heart stuck in her throat as she tried to swallow.

He looked pallid… like he'd been asleep for a long time... like he'd always be asleep, never to wake again.

She sat down on the edge of his bed.

Her fingers brushed his hand and she noticed how hot he was running. Hermione closed her eyes trying to figure out what could've happened in the last twelve hours, trying to make sense of everything that had happened before that, like last night, like Christmas, like why she was sitting there, confused, and terrified, and sad, and angry with him, so very angry with him—because how dare he… how dare he become a Death Eater and try to kill Dumbledore, and almost kill Katie Bell, and call her a Mudblood, and give her jewelry, and hold her hand, and kiss her, and touch her, and then conveniently happen to fall unconscious so he didn't have to face up to any of his actions.

She just wished he would wake so he could answer the never-ending questions she had. She only wanted to understand, to be able to trust him, but how could she trust him when she didn't even trust herself around him?

Suddenly, an idea occurred to her and after it had crossed her mind, she couldn't shake it off.

She had to see it. The Dark Mark.

Seeing it would end all this. She would see it and confess everything to Harry, tell him that Draco was going into the Room of Requirement, go with him to Dumbledore… she would stop feeling this way.

Drawing her wand, she whispered _Finite Incantatem._

For a split second, she wished that nothing would happen. That his arm would remain bare and it would be beautiful.

But the charm slowly began to fade and Hermione watched in horror as the Dark Mark appeared; red, swollen and septic. The flesh around it was slightly disfigured, but healed, as if he'd taken a knife to it. She understood immediately that it was the reason he was here—what was making him sick, though she didn't understand why. Had he tried to get rid of it or was Voldemort capable of doing something like this to his followers? And what did that mean, did that mean he was being punished for not succeeding in killing Dumbledore?

She quickly recast the charm, an errant tear spilling over as she blinked.

Hermione was furiously blinking back more tears, waiting for it to end. Because she thought once she'd seen it, once she knew, without a doubt, that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater, the feelings would stop.

So she waited… and waited.

But there were only more tears.

Hermione crumpled in defeat, her forehead on his chest and she prayed for him to wake up, weeping quietly into the white sheets.

All of a sudden, she heard heavy footsteps echo outside the doors.

 _Madam Pomfrey!_

She quickly jumped back onto her bed, wiping her eyes. Burying half her face into the pillow, she feigned sleep.

However, she soon realized, it wasn't the nurse, it was Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. She recognized their voices when they spoke from behind the curtain.

"What the hell is _she_ doing here?" spat Nott.

"How should _I_ know? Keep your voice down.'

"I bet she had something to do with this!"

"What are you talking about? He was alone."

"She didn't have to be there to be responsible—!"

"Be quiet!" warned Zabini. "You'll wake her."

"Sod off, I'll be as loud as I want, I leave Draco with you for all of fifteen fucking minutes and he's in the hospital wing!"

"He was in the bloody bathroom! Am I supposed to keep an eye on him in there as well?"

"YES!" Nott hissed. "Don't let him out of your sight—isn't that exactly what I said?"

Zabini was quiet.

"Fuck, I'm sorry Blaise. I just…"

Nott sighed.

She heard a chair being dragged against the ground.

They had stopped speaking.

Maybe they'd cast a silencing charm.

Hermione internally groaned. How was she supposed to leave now? Maybe she could just get up and go, but they'd probably realize she'd been awake the whole time, or maybe she'd have to wait for Pomfrey to return and 'wake her', but that could take ages—although Hermione didn't think she'd leave Draco unattended for too long...

"Didn't Snape give Pansy a pass?" asked Nott, breaking the silence.

"He did… I just didn't tell her."

Another awkward moment passed.

"When will he wake up?"

"Soon," said Zabini. "He's already looking better."

"He looks like hell."

"Like I said, he looks better. Snape said he'd be in here for at least another day or so."

The conversation took a lighter tone afterward and they were speaking softly for another ten or fifteen minutes—one can't tell time in hell—when Madam Pomfrey walked in. Thankfully she asked them to leave, claiming they were crowding the patient. Hermione found that odd and wondered if Dumbledore had asked her not to allow visitors. There was a curtain around his bed after all.

Her mouth went dry.

Had Dumbledore found out about the Dark Mark?

 _No, she thought quickly, if he had Draco would be facing Aurors by now… or worse… expelled._

"Besides," Madam Pomfrey, said placating them as they began to protest. "You can keep him company tomorrow evening while I've gone out for supplies."

"But I have Quidditch practice tomorrow evening," objected Zabini and Nott joined in explaining how he had Prefect duties to attend to and would be busy at that time as well.

"Then come right afterward, alright?"

They mumbled complaints, showing their obvious displeasure at being kicked out but agreed that they'd return tomorrow. As they were leaving, Nott suddenly asked, "What's wrong with Hermione Granger?"

Madam Pomfrey began to stammer something about a woman's body being a private affair and none of his business what anyone else was doing here as she ushered them both out, shutting the door.

Hermione cringed.

After a safe amount of time had lapsed, she stirred, pretending to wake. She thanked Madam Pomfrey politely and left.

At least lying in bed feigning sleep hadn't been for nothing. Now she knew to come back tomorrow evening.

* * *

Draco was dreaming or remembering. He wasn't certain, it all seemed so surreal. He was at Diagon Alley, it was Autumn and there were red, yellow and orange leaves strewn on the pavement everywhere, but no trees in sight. It was windy, a strong breeze suddenly blew and rustled his robes and all the leaves flew up, twirling in the air. They seemed to dry and discolor falling back down, brown and black. He stepped on one and it crunched, turning to ash.

His father stood beside him, talking to a man whom Draco didn't recognize. He knew better than to interrupt them. After all, it would be rude and he had nothing to say.

Just then he heard laughter. He turned toward the noise. Potter and Weasley. She was there too, smiling. It reached her eyes. They were waving goodbye to her, leaving her all alone.

He looked back at his father. The man who he had been speaking to was gone and he was surrounded by many people, all of whom were wearing masks and black robes.

The bell on top of the door of Flourish & Blotts jingled loudly as she swung it open and went in.

No one would notice if he left to follow her, just for a minute. It had been a while since he'd last seen her and he was curious to know how summer had changed her.

He waited all of five seconds.

He opened the door slowly, the bell gave a small tinkle and it shut again. He searched for her. She was climbing the stairs, her skirt flapping with each step and the movement hypnotized him. She'd gotten taller and the skirt sat shorter on her thigh.

He waited again. Five seconds. Ten would be better but he was impatient.

He made his way upstairs. He looked around and she seemed to have disappeared.

He stalked the first aisle with deliberate and slow steps, then the second, the third. He stopped at the fourth because he'd finally caught a glimpse of her through the bookshelf. Her eyes were cast down reading something. He walked to the very end of the shelves and around them to peer at her, half his face covered by the wooden frame.

She was chewing her lip and it made him want to know what she was thinking, what book she was reading.

He imagined for a moment that he could approach her and hit the book out of her hand. Just to see what it was.

She'd have to bend down to pick it up.

He could push her when she did.

Maybe she'd land on all fours.

She flipped a page.

Or maybe she'd fall on her back.

Maybe her skirt would ride up.

She flipped another page.

Maybe he'd—

"Draco," came his father's cold voice. It was quiet, he almost hadn't heard it. The curved end of his cane hooked his shoulder spinning him around. His father's lips were pursed, his eyes suspecting. "What are you doing?"

He was about to answer, to lie, when he heard another voice, calling him... it was softer. He turned back again and she was looking right at him, calling his name.

"Draco…"

He woke with a start. It was a little dark but he could see Hermione by the dim glow of candlelight.

She hushed him, "I didn't mean to frighten you..."

He stared, her skin was the color of milk… there was all this orange light and she had a glow.

"Hermione?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. She hushed him and he wondered if he was still asleep, still dreaming. He must be… he was… it was all a dream.

"You still have a fever, lie back down." He thought he was lying down. It was unbearably hot and he threw the blankets off of him. But they were on him again and he fidgeted beneath them.

"Madam Pomfrey's given you some potions for the fever and the pain."

He felt lightheaded. What pain?

She leaned in close, very close. "It's the Mark," she whispered so low he could barely hear, not over all the gushing water. _Is there a waterfall nearby?_ "I think it's infected—"

He turned away from her. This wasn't a good dream. He didn't want to talk about that, not even here.

He felt her hands cupping his face. She was trying to quieten him again, but he hadn't been speaking, had he? She was saying something about delirium.

He liked that word... delirium.

His eyes were closing, everything was blurring.

It was hard to focus.

He felt a light caress on his forehead as he tried to go back to the other dream, back to the bookstore.

Maybe he'd just ask her what she was reading.

But then what fun would that be?


	22. Waking

Everyone was seated along the Gryffindor table for dinner. It was what Ron Weasley considered to be the perfect way to end the day. Except he couldn't enjoy a minute of it because Lavender Brown was suffocating him.

The girl was clinging to him even now, I mean, really, couldn't a man eat in peace?

If he was being honest he was getting sick of her. The attention was nice but it was beginning to be all too much for him. What had he been thinking?

Right… he had been furious with Hermione for snogging Krum and was pretty certain that they were secretly together. Try as she may, to deny it, he didn't believe that a bloke would give a girl a bracelet like that unless there was something more than friendship going on.

And she keeps playing with the cursed thing like she's attached to it or something. At least he was making some headway with her, thought Ron as he stuffed his face with a forkful of mince pie. She had smiled back at him the other day, and then yesterday she'd returned his hello, which meant she'd moved on from completely ignoring him to acknowledging his presence.

Lavender fawning over him all the time certainly wasn't helping things move along quickly though. He wanted to look to Harry for help but his best friend was too busy dwelling on Malfoy's every move. It was exhausting.

"He wasn't in class today either. What do you think he's up to?" asked Harry looking over at the Slytherin table for the eleventh time.

Ron pursed his lips. It was a little weird that he wasn't in class but was it really that important?

"You don't think he might've left, do you, like Eloise Midgen?" asked Gin.

Harry was shaking his head. "Not a chance," he scoffed.

"Maybe he's sick," voiced Ron. "I mean, he missed the Quidditch game because he was ill so…"

At that point, Lavender piped up.

"She would know," she said, her eyes on Hermione. "She was at the hospital wing yesterday."

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you know?"

"Cho told Padma, who told Parvati, who told me, that you were excused from Arithmancy to go see Madam Pomfrey."

Everyone turned their heads to look at Hermione, including Ron. He didn't know she wasn't feeling well and very much wanted to ask her if she was alright, but was aware of Lavender's watchful gaze so said nothing.

Gin did it for him.

"Oh no, are you okay now?"

"Did you see Malfoy," asked Harry abruptly. "Was he there?"

Ron cringed at the eager tone in Harry's voice. He figured that it couldn't be healthy to be thinking about the Ferret as much as his best friend was. His obsession had gotten worse after he'd eavesdropped on Malfoy's conversation with Snape.

"I…" Hermione was hesitant and Ron couldn't blame her, he wouldn't want to feed this particular fire either.

"I'm not sure, maybe... I wasn't there for long, I had a bad tummy is all."

"Surely you saw," Harry insisted.

"I did notice there was another patient but I couldn't see who it was," she said playing with her food. "There was a curtain around the bed."

Harry's forehead creased in thought and he was on the verge of saying more but then mercifully dessert appeared and Ron steered the conversation away from Malfoy by commenting on the generous spread on the table.

There was only so much of the Ferret he could stomach, especially when there was all this food around.

He was even more relieved when Lav moved to sit down at the other end with Parvati when she arrived late.

At last, he could enjoy dessert in tranquil bliss.

Then Gin left too but he was too busy stuffing his face with treacle tart to hear where she was off to.

As soon as they'd both left, Harry rounded on Hermione again.

"You should've looked to see if it was him," he whispered reproachfully. "You know he's doing something on _his_ orders!"

Hermione looked stricken. Ron frowned, his mouth still half full.

"That curtain is there for someone's privacy mate," he said in her defense. "Besides, she was sick. Can't expect her to be spying on Malfoy while she's ill, can you?"

Hermione gave him a small smile of gratitude and Ron knew it was the closest thing he'd get to a thank you. It was too soon for anything else.

He smiled back.

Progress.

Harry rolled his eyes and it was clear that he was agitated with them both.

"Or maybe," his friend, said thinking out loud. "Maybe he's faking it."

Ron forked another mouthful and sighed. Harry was definitely losing it. There was no denying that something was up, but Malfoy pretending to be sick for over a day. Ron doubted even he could get away with that. And why would he? To skip class and be stuck in bed all day long?

 _Sounds boring if you ask me, he thought._

He looked back up in between mouthfuls to see that Hermione was staring at her plate, her food untouched. She was fidgeting with the bracelet again.

Ron looked down at his half-eaten tart with a scowl. What the hell did she see in Krum anyway, the grouchy git... can't believe she snogged him. Pft, penpals my arse! He'd be an international Quidditch player too someday—that'd show her.

Harry started to get up.

Hermione who seemed to have snapped out of a trance asked nervously, "Where you going?"

"Seeing as neither of you two are listening to me, I'm leaving," said Harry rather crossly.

"Wait," she said getting up quickly. "Where to?"

Ron pursed his lips. Hermione clearly didn't want Harry to leave her alone with him.

"To the Tower, where else?" he shrugged.

"Oh," she said softly, settling back in her seat. "Right."

Ron peeked at her from the corner of his eye and watched Harry go. He couldn't understand why one moment she had seemed eager to go with Harry and then the next had decided to stay.

Either way, it was an opportunity. It was the first time they were sitting alone together since… well, since Lavender.

"So," he said clearing his throat. "How was Christmas?"

Hermione blinked and looked away. "Good."

"Do anything interesting?"

Her fingers brushed the bracelet again and she wouldn't look at him. "Not really…"

"Krum give you something nice for Christmas?"

Their eyes locked. The question had sounded bitter and he knew he shouldn't have baited her like that.

"I told you," she said with a hint of irritation. "We're just friends."

Ron opened his mouth and closed it. He was itching to say something but he didn't want to push her away again.

"Did Harry tell you about Scrimgeour?" he asked quickly trying to distract her.

The question took Hermione by surprise.

"Yeah..." she said slowly, picking up her fork. "The nerve of him, right?"

Ron nodded in agreement. He was just about to make a rude remark about the Minister of Magic when Lavender appeared with a gaggle of girls, including the Patil twins and proceeded to wrap herself around him. He could swear that the woman had some kind of radar.

Hermione pursed her lips and excused herself from the table.

He sat there for the next ten minutes listening to them prattle on about how Michael Corner was dating some Fifth year in Hufflepuff, about new hair smoothing potions and other things he didn't care to hear.

But when he heard Cormac's name his ears immediately perked up.

"What?" Ron spluttered.

"His uncle, apparently he's some big ministry—"

"No, no, what were you saying about Greengrass?" he asked Padma Patil.

" _I said_ ," she huffed with irritation, "Daphne's right pissed at Cormac for snogging Hermione and then asking her to his uncle's New Years Party a few days later."

Ron clenched his fists, the stem of the fork digging into his palm.

He was so livid he could barely speak.

Cormac McLaggen? That… that big-bloody-buffoon!

He rose abruptly, his dessert unfinished.

"I have to go," he said without looking at anyone in particular. He vaguely heard Lavender whine, 'Won-won' behind him but proceeded to walk out the doors.

Because Ron was seeing red.

Kill McLaggen, then her… or kill her, then McLaggen. And just where the bloody hell does Krum fit into all this! Or maybe it had been McLaggen who'd given her the bracelet.

Halfway to the Tower, his anger had begun to deflate.

This was all his fault.

She had said she was going to take him to Slughorn's party. He could've been the one she snogged that night, not stupid Cormac.

Frowning at the portrait of the Fat Lady he mumbled the password and the doors swung open.

He walked in and immediately saw Hermione curled up in the armchair, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the roaring fire.

It dawned on Ron that if he really thought about it, Krum and McLaggen weren't the gits.

He was.

* * *

As the bathroom filled with steam from her hot shower Hermione began to relax. She wanted to head to bed early tonight. She was mentally exhausted from catching up on the Arithmancy work she'd missed the day before and emotionally drained trying to reconcile her feelings for Draco Malfoy that she could've slept right then and there against the tiles. Harry certainly hadn't helped her state at all with his incessant questions and outlandish theories on why Draco wasn't in class.

Stepping out of the shower, she dried herself off. The bruises on her thighs were turning into a shade of dark purple and she wondered how long they'd be there for.

Looking at them, she told herself—as if she needed to be reminded—that a Death Eater had done that to her.

She changed quickly, covering the only trace of him left on her.

As she entered the girl's dormitory, she found Ginny already tucked in bed. She was surprised to find her there. She thought she was going to go sneak off and see Dean.

"Ginny," said Hermione. "Is everything okay?

"Yeah…"

Hermione sighed. "What's wrong?" she asked sitting on the edge of her bed.

Ginny sat up but was reluctant to answer. It was only the two of them, as it was still relatively early and everyone was in the common room.

Hermione cast a silencing charm and for added measure, she stood up and went to close the door.

"It's Dean," she admitted once it clicked shut. "We had a huge row."

"What happened?" Hermione prodded.

"Nothing really," she groaned. "He was just getting on my nerves and then he said something and then I said something back and you know how these things just snowball sometimes."

Hermione was nodding, her mind drawn back to the empty classroom, her copy of _A Picture of Dorian Gray_ thrown onto a desk.

"Yeah…" she whispered. Except she was fairly certain Ginny's fight didn't end the same way.

"It's just frustrating! I thought Dean was great but now I'm starting to see that he isn't the person I thought he was… I mean… I was so excited and crazy about him in the beginning but now... don't get me wrong, he's really sweet but… there are so many ways a person can be disappointed."

Hermione swallowed.

What Ginny said scared her. It rang true though, didn't it? You can't trust feelings, they blind you. And if she knew one thing, Draco Malfoy always found a way to disappoint her. Why now, after five years of a consistent track record, should he be any different?

If Hermione held her tongue and said nothing, and someone got hurt… she would never forgive herself.

And someone had already been hurt, hadn't they?

"Sorry for ranting," said Ginny, taking Hermione's silence the wrong way.

Hermione gave her a tight hug. "Don't be. I'm sorry to hear you two fought. I'm sure you'll make up soon."

Ginny gave her a tight squeeze back.

Letting go she let out a small chuckle.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"At least Dean, unlike Cormac, is a wickedly good kisser," she chortled.

Hermione groaned. She instantly regretted having told her how awful her date had behaved at Slughorn's party.

"You are the worst friend Ginny Weasley!" she said smacking her on the arm.

Ginny laughed as she begged Hermione to tell her everything again, down to the last detail. So she spent the next few minutes recounting everything that he had done and said, how he had bragged endlessly and how he'd grabbed her and kissed her under the mistletoe.

Honestly, she thought, blushing, what was with everyone thinking they had a right to grope her?

Then Parvati walked in and they quietened down.

Climbing into bed, her thoughts went back to Draco.

She made a decision. She knew what she had to do.

* * *

Draco had woken earlier that morning to find himself in the hospital bed alone. The last thing he could remember was deciding that he didn't want to die with the Dark Mark on his arm.

He winced as the painful memory came back to him and he imagined it was as excruciating as being hit with a Cruciatus Curse.

His eyes were still heavy but he managed to sit up a little.

Then his pulse jumped.

The Mark. He yanked his arm from under the sheets and saw that his forearm was bare.

His brow furrowed. He couldn't have been successful in removing it...

 _Fuck!_ Someone else had covered it up for him.

His head fell back against the pillow when he remembered that Blaise and Pansy had been waiting for him to join them for breakfast. He groaned rubbing his face wondering what the hell had happened and how he'd gotten to the Hospital Wing.

Just then Madam Pomfrey pulled open the curtain and stepped in.

"Ah!" she said good-naturedly. "Good morning!"

Draco winced as she let more light in.

"Oh don't worry dear," she said closing the curtains again. "Just a bit of sensitivity to the light."

He was feeling extremely tired again.

"How long have I been here?" he croaked.

"Two days Mister Malfoy."

He'd been here two days?

Brilliant.

"Drink this," said Pomfrey handing him a vial of something that looked unpleasant. She noticed that he was looking at it rather distastefully and pointed out that it was either that or the fever. Draco drank it obediently. Looking at the tray by his bed he realized he was being given four different potions. He scowled as he drank the other three.

After a few minutes, he was being pulled under into a deep state of dreamless sleep.

He stirred awake again some hours later, wincing as he turned onto his back.

His bones felt heavy.

A voice startled him.

"Well, well, well," came the voice of Severus Snape. "Well done Draco."

He turned his head to find the professor seated in a chair.

"You've outdone yourself… really."

Draco's head was spinning. "Leave me alone," he groaned, trying to sit up.

It made the spinning worse.

He laid back down.

"Pathetic," Snape sneered. "You're like a toddler. You can't even hold yourself up."

"What the hell do you want?" demanded Draco, his voice gruff.

Snape was quiet and he thought for a second that the wizard would just leave him to suffer in peace.

"I'd like to know what you hoped to accomplish by trying to remove it."

Draco muttered a curse. Of course, he'd found out.

"It was a test," he lied, too tired to think of anything better. "I just wanted to see."

Snape stood up slowly and approached his bedside.

"You are playing a very dangerous game Draco."

"What are you going to do Professor?" He spat challengingly. "Tell on me—and to who—Dumbledore or _him_?"

Before Draco could blink Snape was trying to enter his mind.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and dove into the water, checking that all the doors were locked. He saw one open at the far end of the corridor where the water had entered and flooded the room. He began swimming to it. Snape was on his heels.

He swam through the open door and slammed it closed, so hard, that the force of it shutting propelled Snape back and out of his mind.

Draco's eyes flew open.

"Good," said Snape still hovering over him. "At least your Occlumency is still strong."

Then without another word, he left.

Draco laid there.

Snape couldn't be more wrong about his Occlumency still being strong. That door shouldn't have been open. The room shouldn't exist.

Once again Draco felt his eyelids droop and couldn't fight the lure of his dreams.

His eyes fluttered open slowly. There was barely any light and he figured it was probably late at night.

A soft voice spoke.

"Draco?"

He let his eyes adjust.

Hermione was sitting in the same chair Snape had been sitting in. As he tilted his head to look at her, he felt the remains of a dream tug at his memory but it was foggy and he only had a sense that she'd been here before, as real as her presence was now.

He swallowed.

What was she doing here?

Then he remembered, wondering how on earth he could ever forget, what he'd done to her.

She was there for revenge, of course.

He'd been wrong to think Hermione Granger would not want to punish him herself. She never did allow Potter or Weasley to defend her.

Or maybe… maybe she realized he was of more use to her alive than dead. He was worth a fortune, after all, maybe she was here to blackmail him. Except that's something he would think to do and she was nothing like him.

She was an angel.

She wouldn't see it as an opportunity to exploit galleons from him. If she didn't want him, he imagined that she didn't want anything belonging to him either.

Draco eyed her wearily. "What are you—" he coughed. His throat was terribly dry.

She stood, offering him the goblet by his bedside. He took a full swig of it. Pumpkin juice.

Hermione exhaled as if she'd been holding her breath. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

He glanced away, unable to meet her eyes. He didn't understand the game they were playing. "Fine," he clipped.

There was an indeterminable moment of awkward silence.

"Draco," she whispered. "We have to talk about what happened."

He froze, the cup halfway to his lips. He gulped the rest of it down wishing it was firewhiskey or something stronger, maybe another one of Pomfrey's pain numbing potions because Draco couldn't find the courage, let alone find the vocabulary appropriate for that conversation. He put the goblet back.

There was a sad undertone to her voice when she asked, "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking," he replied honestly. "I was _feeling_." The answer sounded strange on his tongue. And he knew it didn't excuse his behavior.

She gave him a confused look.

Maybe he should've come up with a good lie but he couldn't imagine a scenario that would give him any sort of vindication. She'd said no and his reaction had been to restrain her to the wall.

"You can't try it again," she said evenly, sitting at the edge of his bed. "You know that right?"

He nodded once. "Yes."

And he felt like drowning when he said it because he hadn't gotten as far as ever thinking about whether he'd get to touch her again. Just the idea of never being able to hold her, kiss her, taste her, feel her… it was crushing him and he could barely draw breath thinking about how close he'd gotten to having her and how far away she seemed now.

She wouldn't even look him in the eye either.

Overcome by a crushing wave of regret, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

And it was probably the first time since it had happened that he truly was sorry, but only for all the selfish reasons he'd never care to admit. He couldn't help but think that if he had played his cards right… if he had any cards to play at all, maybe he'd have been able to have her all the time, over and over and over again.

Her eyes lifted and met his. His fingers reached to brush hers without thought. But then she was tearing herself away from him, standing up, as if the distance between them was necessary. He immediately regretted the instinctive way he'd reacted because she seemed to be bracing herself to say something.

Her fists clenched tight on either side, she said, "I need to know Draco..." And she was looking at him dead in the eyes. "What have you been hiding from me?"

Draco stopped breathing.

"Tell me the truth," she said sharply.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Her eyes bore into his, waiting.

There was something very wrong.

The room he'd just locked mere hours ago. The key was turning in its lock and the door was opening again. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to speak, to tell her everything, yet he didn't want to.

Despite himself, he took a deep breath and began, his voice trembling, almost panting from the physical exertion of having to confess. "Our first potions class with Professor Slughorn, I remember walking in and the entire room was filled with the scent of gardenias—"

He clamped his mouth shut again, his jaw aching with the effort but he couldn't stop himself. "—they grow everywhere in the gardens at the Manor... my mother adds them to all the floral arrangements around the house. I've been smelling them my whole life, so I thought… the Amortentia… but I didn't know, didn't understand, till the day I was showing you how to cast the Avis charm... it was in your hair. You were covered in it. You turned and smiled at me, almost like you knew, and I've never hated you more than I did at that moment because that's when I realized that I'd—"

Draco clenched his teeth, biting down on his tongue so hard he thought it would bleed, and he prayed it wouldn't come out but it did. It came out in a frantic rush as if the words were falling from his mouth rather than being spoken.

"–that I'd spent the last three years falling in love with you."

He gasped for breath, his head bowed and his hands braced against his thighs. Draco hadn't realized he'd stood up, pulled toward her by the full force of his admission. He felt sick to his stomach. He'd never felt anything like it. Like he'd been retching, but throwing up words, no, not words… _the truth_.

He raised his head, his jaw dropping open in disbelief.

The pumpkin juice.

Hermione's eyes were wide and glistening, a trembling hand over her mouth.

Draco was backing away from her.

"I didn't..." she choked. "That's not what I was asking."

The back of his legs hit the edge of the bed.

"Veritaserum," he whispered.

She'd drugged him, tricked him into telling her he loved her. And he still didn't believe it, was still waiting for her to say she hadn't, and how dare he, because this was Hermione. His Gryffindor. She had dimples when she smiled, ink stains all over her fingers… he had once noticed a small feather stuck in her hair and it had stayed there the whole day before falling out.

And there was no Occlumency, there was nothing, there was just him and all the doors were suddenly wide open and the moat surrounding them was draining out and he swallowed and there were tears in his eyes and they ran hot and angry down his face. And his heart was breaking.

She reached out to touch him but he batted her hand away as if she were trying to strike him.

"Please," she begged, trying to reach for him again. "I just wanted the truth… I'm sorry."

"You have the truth," he said in a deadly whisper. "Now get out."

"Draco—"

"Get. Out."

Hermione stared at him mutely and in the next breath, as if a dam had broken, she began to weep.

She grabbed a cloak off the chair and ran out.


	23. Penitence

A/N: Thanks for the continued support. It's been fun writing! Hope everyone enjoys the next chapter.

It had been a hot day that summer in Italy and the pool looked too inviting. They'd all received their Hogwarts letters and Mrs. Malfoy had organized for Draco and his friends to spend their last days, before starting school, at the Malfoy's holiday home in Sardinia with them. The villa was a large eight-bedroom property with a crystalline swimming pool, enclosed by rich green gardens covered in wildflowers. Pansy remembered how it sat atop a hill overlooking the northern coast, hidden by way of wards and charms, from the local Muggles.

Neither Blaise's mother nor Theo's father had joined them, but her mother, Patricia Parkinson, who had always been close friends with Draco's mother insisted they make it a family trip and dragged her poor father along as well.

Pansy and her family arrived by Portkey just before noon. Their house-elf had arrived the day before with their luggage so that their belongings would already be unpacked and arranged in their rooms.

"Isn't this view just breathtaking?" her mother sighed removing her sunglasses. "We should really look for our own property in Italy."

Reginald Parkinson, whose mind seemed to be constantly distracted by work, merely made a hum of approval.

"Will you then, will you, my darling?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "Yes…but what of our ski chalet in—"

"Reggie, I simply must have the sun! What use does one have of snow—it is cold and wet—don't you want to see me in my summer dress, to see me glow, don't you want me to be happy?" her mother cried hysterically suddenly on the verge of tears.

Her father began to stammer and stutter that he would look for a villa at once, perhaps even grander than this one, somewhere in Greece, more isolated with fewer muggles around and that he would fill it with pink Bougainvillea for her.

"Oh, you do love me, Reggie, you do," she beamed kissing him on the cheek. "Pansy, won't that be lovely?"

Pansy nodded eagerly looking all around her. Everything was pretty.

At that moment Mr. Malfoy walked out and greeted them. He explained that his wife had stepped out with Draco and would be back any minute. The two men began to speak about Ministry affairs and continued to do so as they entered the house. She went to join her mother who was walking around the lush property in a sort of trance.

"Imagine," she said turning to Pansy. "One day this will all be yours."

Pansy looked up at her mother a little uncertain.

"It will?"

"Don't you know?" her mother laughed gleefully. "Silly girl! You and Draco will get married, just as Narcissa and I have planned, and you will be the next Mrs. Malfoy. Oh, how utterly wonderful the wedding will be... and I am so jealous... if only I could go back and relive such a fairytale dream… remembering is so different."

Pansy turned three-sixty, enamored by everything.

She'd love to live a fairytale dream.

On their third day there, the adults apparated to visit a nearby Wizarding town for the day. Blaise had arrived that morning and the three of them were by the pool. Draco stayed sheltered under the shade of the terrace and seemed the least bit interested in getting in with them.

"Come on," she called out to him. "The water's so nice."

"Mother told me to stay in the shade," he said in a snooty, serious voice. "The Italian sun is very harsh Pansy. It'll give you blemishes."

Blaise, who'd been tanning laid out by the edge of the pool suddenly barked out a hearty laugh, exclaiming gleefully, "I bet he doesn't know how to swim!"

Pansy giggled as Draco turned red. He looked a little like a tomato.

"I do too!" he said holding his chin high in the air.

Quietly she admitted, "I never have seen you swim Draco. Get in, it's so much fun!"

"Get in," chorused Blaise. "Get in, get in, get in!"

Draco was flustered.

"I will," he declared suddenly.

Blaise stood up and with his arms folded, waited.

Draco was peering into the water suspiciously. "Just how deep is it exactly?" he frowned.

"It's not that deep here," Pansy replied reassuringly. "This is the shallow end."

Blaise was getting impatient.

"I… I should get permission from father."

"He's stalling," Blaise chuckled to Pansy. "He's scared."

" _I'm not scared_ ," he hissed scowling.

Blaise tried gently coaxing Draco toward the pool, urging him along but he panicked and lost his footing, falling with a loud splash into the water. He came up for air, coughing and spluttering as if he were drowning but Pansy could almost touch the bottom with her toes so Draco should've been able to stand.

He struggled toward the edge and lifted himself out. His eyes darted between them both as if they'd just tried to murder him.

"Wait till my father hears about this!" he shouted. Then he ran into the villa.

"Now look what you've done," she scolded, splashing Blaise.

He turned to her with his mouth hung open.

"I barely touched him!" Blaise scoffed shaking his head. "You always take his side."

"You scared him!" she argued as she got out of the pool.

"Well if you ask me, I bet he won't be sorted into Slytherin—"

Pansy gasped.

"He'll be sorted into Hufflepuff."

Wrapping a towel around her she gave Blaise one last reproachful look and went to find Draco.

She went to his room which was next to his parents, the Master bedroom. He was sitting on his bed, a perfect picture of pathetic; soaking wet and pouting.

"Don't be mad Draco," Pansy said with a sad tone. "He didn't mean it."

"I don't like that Zabini, he's an arrogant snob," he muttered.

Pansy bit back a laugh and sat next to him on the bed. "He's actually really fun—"

"He could have killed me!"

Pansy fought the urge to roll her eyes. He exaggerated everything.

"It's okay to be scared sometimes," said Pansy without looking at him. She understood that he was afraid of the water and it was alright because surely everyone was afraid of something.

Draco was quiet.

"When does Theo get here?" she asked feeling awkward.

"Tomorrow morning. Father's arranged for a Portkey…. he wants to run away," Draco said lowering his voice. "He told me he was going to and then asked if I wanted to go with him. Between the two of us—and don't say I said anything—but I don't think he likes it at home, not since his mother… well… you know."

Pansy's eyes stung and she whispered fearfully, "Will you run away together then?"

"No, of course not!"

"Oh, good," she said with a sigh of relief. "Because you're my best friend Draco."

Eyeing her skeptically, he said, "But I thought your best friend is Blaise."

"But I've known you longer," she argued.

He slowly began to nod. "Alright, you're my best friend but don't tell him or Theo. I don't think they'll like it."

"Do you really mean it?" she asked beaming.

"Yes," smiled Draco. Pansy blushed looking away.

"If you ask me," he started to say scornfully. "Blaise is the reckless sort, I bet he'll be tossed into Gryffindor—" Pansy gasped. "—with the Mudbloods and the Blood traitors, but don't worry I'll be in Slytherin with you and Theo will be there too."

"Don't say that! Blaise will be with us, his family has only had generations of Slytherins."

Draco's face fell into a stubborn pout as if to tell her he didn't like that idea at all.

"Want me to teach you how to swim?" she asked trying to distract him.

"No!" he balked. "I'll never hear the end of it from _him_."

"He won't say anything I promise."

"Alright," he said seeming to have cheered up.

Just then Blaise came running in.

"Come look, come look!" he cried smiling excitedly. "I accidentally froze the pool."

The three shared a look and burst out laughing. Together they ran out to see firsthand the results of undisciplined magic.

The memory faded away and Pansy was back in Potions with Theo and Blaise. After class Professor Snape had asked them to stay back and informed them that Draco was awake now and that he'd only be in the hospital wing another night. They left immediately to visit him.

As soon as they entered, Madam Pomfrey stopped them at the door.

"Mister Malfoy has requested not to have any visitors," she said.

All three of them were speechless.

"Oh, except you Miss Parkinson."

"What?" Blaise snapped. Even Theo looked a little put out.

"No visitors," she repeated curtly. " _Except for_ Miss Parkinson."

She blinked in surprise. They'd barely spoken since that day in the Great Hall when she'd revealed her feelings for Blaise. Pansy looked at the dark beautiful boy standing next to her, asking, without asking, for permission. He wore an irate expression but gave an imperceptible nod.

"Alright," Theo shrugged. "Tell us how he's doing later at lunch."

They left and Madam Pomfrey went back to puttering around with the supply cabinet. She walked across the large room to the curtain surrounding his bed and pulled it aside. Draco seemed to be sleeping on his side but when she sat by him on the bed he stirred.

Turning his face, he saw her and began to sit up a little.

"Hi," she said weakly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better... thanks."

"Snape said you'll be out by tomorrow."

"That's good," replied Draco nodding his head. "Feels like I've been in la-la land the past few days."

Pansy stared at her lap.

"Why didn't you want to see Theo and Blaise?"

Draco shrugged.

"I can't deal with them right now... they'd be asking far too many questions."

"And I won't ask questions?" she challenged.

"Well technically that was a question," he retorted half-smiling.

Pansy glared.

"You really scared us Draco."

His face fell and he glanced away from her.

"You could've died."

"Far worse things than death Pans," he frowned.

She furrowed her brows not understanding.

"You got me in trouble with Blaise you know," she said chastising him.

Draco's forehead creased in concern.

"I did?" he asked and it was his turn to look confused.

"Well, you said no visitors except me."

He bowed his head bashfully.

"I didn't think… didn't mean to stir things with him."

Pansy sighed.

"I'm really sorry," he whispered and it was so low she wasn't sure she'd heard.

"It's fine, he'll get over it—"

"I mean... for everything," he said meeting her eyes. "You're still my best friend, aren't you?"

She took his hand in hers.

After a long pause, she smiled and said, "Don't let the boys know that."

"I won't," he chuckled.

And she knew he was remembering that hot summer in Italy when they'd all gotten too much sun and had eaten too much gelato and life was far, far simpler.

Then she squeezed his hand tightly, thanking the stars that he was alright.

* * *

When she was very young, Hermione's family used to have a Sunday morning ritual of walking to the café down their street to eat a full English breakfast. They'd been walking along the pavement on that cold crispy morning, with Hermione skipping excitedly ahead, when suddenly she saw, as if in slow motion, a passing car skid and swerve right into another, in a deafening crash.

Watching Draco Malfoy confess his love for her was a little like watching that again; an accident in slow motion. She'd just stood there allowing it to unfold and it would've been beautiful if he hadn't been choking on the words, so unwilling to say them.

And she cried because deep down she'd known. Known that there was something terribly wrong with the way he looked at her, terribly wrong in the way he touched her and she'd pretended not to see it.

Because it was impossible and she'd told herself so every time she began to wonder. She'd even said it to herself that night at the Three Broomsticks when he had leaned in and whispered her name.

It'd had been close to two weeks since the awful episode in the hospital wing and Hermione had spent almost every night lying in bed barely able to sleep.

She sat up in the dark. Everyone was fast asleep in their beds and there wasn't a sound to be heard in the dormitory or outside. She slid her wand from under her pillow and tiptoed to her trunk. It made a slight creaking noise as she was opening it and had to stop to see if it had woken anyone. The room stayed silent, no one seemed to stir.

Pursing her lips, she opened it the rest of the way to look for the Marauders Map. She'd been daft to take it again knowing full well that Harry could notice it missing from his things at any moment but she just had to check where Draco was from time to time. She lit a low _lumos._ Tonight, he was in the Slytherin dungeons, presumably fast asleep, the day before yesterday he had disappeared off the map, which meant that after everything, he'd returned to the Room of Requirement. For the life of her, Hermione couldn't understand what he was doing, and everything hurt when she tried to. She put the map away and crawled back into bed.

She had tried to apologize. Her coin was cold to the touch with his silence despite the numerous messages she'd sent him. She'd tried to catch his gaze in class but he was making a diligent effort to ignore her completely. Then one day by pure chance, she'd run into him in the library. Hermione had been looking for a Herbology book and had come across him in one of the aisles. She approached him, unable to let the opportunity pass, but as soon as he saw her, he slid the book he'd been browsing back into the shelf and brushed right past without a word.

She'd thought that giving him time would make him see that she hadn't meant to hurt him but all she'd succeeded in was understanding just how horribly unforgiving Draco Malfoy could be, and it was so much worse because he hadn't returned to his old ways of calling her a Mudblood. There were no dramatics, no insults, she was just… invisible.

Hermione returned the map the next day and vowed to put everything in the past... and she did. For two whole days, she felt like her old self again and it was easy. It was the weekend and she spent it with Ginny, Harry & Ron, immersed in homework and on Sunday they'd played a tournament of exploding snap. Even she and Ron were on good terms again. Everything was coming up roses.

Then Monday morning came and it all went to hell. Ron was being particularly boisterous in D.A.D.A class that day, eliciting a laugh out of everyone at the Gryffindor table, including herself. He seemed to be in good spirits having won yesterdays exploding snap tournament and despite herself, she thought it might have something to do with the fact that they were once again friends. The first time Ron was caught talking, Professor Snape deducted house points. The second time she thought he was going to give Ron detention but instead he did something that shocked everyone.

"Weasley," he sneered. "Switch seats with Malfoy."

Ron paled as he glanced over at the Slytherin table. Draco looked furious. It might as well have been announced in the Daily Prophet—young master Malfoy no longer in Snape's good graces.

"Now," he ordered.

Looking sullen, Ron obediently packed his things and went to sit next to Nott. The Slytherins were all frowning in disapproval at this obvious slight against their friend who had, had nothing to do with Ron's unruliness. Draco reluctantly left to sit between her and Harry. The two friends shared a look between them before Draco pulled the chair out and sat down. With a swish of his black robes, Snape had turned back to the blackboard and proceeded to instruct the class.

Hermione's entire body grew rigid with nervous tension. She caught a whiff of Draco's cologne and had to fight the urge to lean toward him, to press her nose against his robes and breathe in deeply. Her cheeks burned. She wondered if he could smell gardenias.

The last time they'd been this close he'd told her he loved her.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched as he set his parchment and ink on the table. Then her eyes snapped up to Professor Snape who seemed to be in the middle of giving them important information. She'd missed it. Draco was writing, she'd just copy what he wrote. She watched the way he dipped the quill in the ink, and let the excess drip before moving it back to his parchment, how his long fingers moved as he wrote cursive with tight neat loops.

Hermione stared and thought about how they had dug into her thighs, leaving small bruises. She squeezed her legs together. Those fingers had ripped the buttons off her shirt, traced the scar on her chest, all over her breasts, and caressed her legs. Those hands had pulled down her skirt, tugged down her knickers… and then her thoughts came back full circle to the bruises and how they'd gotten there.

His fingers had pressed hard into her skin when he was trying to steady her, when she started to feel the momentum of something, wanted to chase it, to finally grasp it and she thought her body would break by the sheer magnitude of feeling it—

"Miss Granger."

Hermione blinked.

"Professor Snape," she said quickly.

"We're waiting…"

She was flushed and confused and for the first time in days Malfoy wasn't looking through her, he was looking right at her and he was waiting too.

"I… I'm sorry could you please repeat the question?"

Snape frowned, appraising her.

"Who was the first prisoner in Azkaban to be given the Dementor's Kiss?"

Hermione froze. She knew this… it was… it was on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed and caught a glimpse of Harry who was trying to subtly mouth it to her. _Harry knew and she didn't know?!_

"I don't remember," she said finally and she was so ashamed with herself that she couldn't even look Snape in the eye when she answered.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," mocked Snape. "That's ten points from Gryffindor for not listening and another ten for trying to give her the answer, Potter."

She heard Harry make a noise of exasperation and blushed crimson as she felt Draco's eyes still on her.

Hermione spent the rest of the day with her head bowed in disgrace.

That night she was so angry with herself that she read and re-read everything about dementors, then she summarized the information and made short notes.

After close to two hours she conceded that it was time to get to bed. It was only when she was twisted in the sheets, later that night did she open her eyes heavy with sleep and think of who had been the cause of her distraction.

Draco Malfoy and her head had been screaming with him.

She allowed herself to imagine he was there, stroking the smooth of her skin, his tongue unrelenting against her and she was squirming, her body hot and she found her fingers caressing her breasts trying to rouse the same feelings. Finally succumbing she let her hand slip beneath her knickers, burying her cheek into the pillow mortified by how wet she was by her reenactment of the way he'd touched her.

And it was awful because no matter what she did, it didn't feel as good, couldn't rouse the same intensity, yet she wanted so desperately to feel it again.

She fell back asleep unsatisfied and woke the next day in a terrible mood.

After having managed to get through the day without screaming bloody murder, she sat down to dinner with everyone in the Great Hall. She couldn't help when her eyes lifted to the Slytherin table to catch a glimpse of him. He wasn't there. She did, however, see Pansy Parkinson, who had seemed to make up quite nicely with Zabini. He was in the process of serving her food on a plate for her. Hermione rolled her eyes. Then suddenly her eyes snapped to the double doors as she saw from the periphery of her vision a shock of blonde hair.

She watched as Draco walked in with Tracey Davis. They were both absorbed in conversation and continued to talk animatedly after having sat down. Then she laughed, her head thrown back at something Draco had said. He smiled back and it was as if her laughter was infectious because soon he was laughing too.

Hermione frowned forking a pumpkin pasty.

 _Couldn't have been that funny, she thought_.

Then she was touching his arm, practically fawning all over him.

 _Just what did that blonde-haired, long-legged tart think she was doing?_

"That's a new development," commented Lavender to Parvati. "Honestly, she has no scruples moving in on him like that. It's so obvious."

Hermione, who had never been interested in any of their gossiping was suddenly listening attentively. Harry who was still obsessed with Draco was immediately curious as well.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Ron winced and she could tell that he had grown weary of the topic.

"Oh," Parvati replied addressing Harry. "Tracey's always had a huge crush on Malfoy. She's a real go-getter."

Smirking Ginny said, "He doesn't seem to mind the attention."

Standing abruptly Hermione excused herself claiming that she still hadn't finished an essay for Herbology. She walked out but not before taking one last long look at Draco.

He was listening to something Tracey was saying and Hermione wondered how easy it was for boys to fall in and out of love, especially when there was someone else.


	24. Atonement

The rest of the week went by in an uneventful blur. Hermione spent most of her time in the common room or in a corner of the library so as to avoid seeing Draco.

What was the phrase—out of sight, out of mind? Well, she was trying to do that and it seemed to be working. She'd been in the library all Friday afternoon writing her essay about the several uses of mistletoe berry and once she'd finished, she figured she might as well get a head start on her Ancient Runes assignment. It was only when the library was closing did she leave for Gryffindor tower.

Entering the common room she saw Harry and Ron only just beginning to write their herbology essays and Ginny sprawled on the floor playing quietly with Arnold.

"Hermione!" exclaimed Harry. "There you are!"

She gave him a small confused smile. "Here I am."

"Where've you been?" asked Ron. "You missed dinner."

She explained to them that she'd been at the library and had lost track of time only realizing how late it was when Madam Pince came around to kick her out. Ron jumped up happily and left to the boy's dormitory without so much as a word.

Hermione looked at Harry with a puzzled expression. He pursed his lips, his green eyes quickly glancing back down to his parchment. Ron returned a second later unfolding a serviette and handing Hermione a pumpkin pasty.

"I knew you'd gotten carried away, I told Harry as much, didn't I, Harry?" Ron said eagerly.

Hermione's eyes widened. "That's really thoughtful of you Ron. Thanks."

He shrugged as if it was no big deal and plonked back down on his seat.

Hermione's eyes darted between both Harry and the Red-headed girl, who had been quietly watching the exchange from the floor with a cheeky grin. Reluctant to acknowledge Ron's strange behavior toward her recently she sat down and began to nibble on her dinner.

"Let's all do something fun together tomorrow," Ginny said suddenly.

Harry's head turned quickly to look at her. "Like what?" he asked.

Ron piped up proposing they all go to Hogsmeade for the day. Sensing Hermione's hesitation Ginny looked at her with fiery resolution and said, "We're going to Hogsmeade tomorrow, and you're coming. I've barely seen you the last few weeks so I'm not taking no for an answer."

Hermione supposed there was no harm in going, in fact, she needed to buy more parchment and even fancied getting herself a new quill. Shrugging she said she'd love to. Her friend grinned enthusiastically, and both, Harry and Ron, also seemed overly excited about the idea of them all going.

Just then Dean and Seamus came down from the boy's dormitory.

"What's going on?" asked Seamus. Ron explained that they were all going to Hogsmeade tomorrow and it was decided that they'd join too. The more the merrier, Hermione thought with a smile. But she noticed that Harry didn't seem too happy. Had something happened between the three boys that she wasn't aware of? That nasty business between him and Seamus was put to rest, wasn't it?

Maybe Ginny was right, she'd been hiding out for far too long.

Ron invited her to play a game of chess that night but she politely declined because all she really wanted to do was have a long hot shower followed by a good night's sleep. He seemed a little disappointed but she pointed out that he still hadn't finished his essay and that they could play another time.

The next day they all left to Hogsmeade and spent hours in and out of different kinds of shops. Everyone seemed to want to buy different things; the boys insisted that they visit Zonko's and Honeydukes while Ginny wanted to visit a new sporting goods store that had opened. They had just left the joke shop when they ran into Luna, Neville and Hannah, all of whom, to Hermione's dismay, agreed to Ron's invitation to join them. If she was being honest with herself, Hermione had been avoiding Luna since the Ravenclaw had run into Draco and her together that evening. She was on edge wondering if the looney girl might bring up fairies or any other nonsense, but after a while, it seemed that she wasn't going to say anything about having seen them.

It was close to six and the shops were all closing. Ron suggested they end the trip with a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.

When they arrived, the pub was full and they had to move some tables and chairs around to accommodate their large group. Ron plonked himself down next to her cheerfully. She grinned at him in wonderment; he'd been in such good spirits lately and his mood was infectious. She looked around the table, noticing that practically everyone was here… except… wait. Hermione had been so off-kilter lately that she had only just realized Lavender's absence.

"Ron," she said leaning into him so that he could hear over the chatter. "Where's Lavender?"

He looked a little bashful and said, "She's a bit miffed at me."

"Oh. Why?"

Ron gave a small shrug. "She bought me this necklace for Christmas and… _it's awful_. I refuse to wear the thing so… yeah…"

Hermione merely nodded, not knowing what to say. It was still an awkward topic for them both. She picked up her butterbeer and listened to the conversation going around the table. Dean was recounting Seamus' recent mishap in the transfiguration classroom. Hermione burst out laughing, along with everyone else and she couldn't believe how much fun she was having. After her second glass of butterbeer, she excused herself to use the loo.

Walking to the back of the pub, Hermione turned and stopped dead in her tracks.

There was Draco sitting at the same dimly lit table that they had sat at.

And Tracey Davis was leaning in to kiss him.

She must have gasped because before their lips could meet, their heads both snapped up. Hermione could not describe the panic that came over her. She turned abruptly and almost knocked over Madam Rosmerta carrying a tray of drinks. She sputtered an apology, which the barmaid waved off as if it was an everyday occurrence.

Tracey was laughing. Without looking at the happy couple she pushed the door of the bathroom open willing herself not to cry.

Before the door could close, Hermione heard her giggle softly and say, "She's such a prude."

She could feel the humiliation and hurt well up in her eyes.

Hermione locked herself in a bathroom stall and sat on the toilet. She was so embarrassed. Closing her eyes, she recalled the last time she found herself hiding out like this… because of Ronald-stupid-Weasley. Boys were always making her cry and she was sick and tired of it. She realized, of course, that both Ron and Draco had the right to date whomever they wanted but at least with Ron, she felt she was justified to be a little upset. He'd pretty much passed her over for bloody Brown, but with Draco, it was so much worse because she knew it was all her fault.

She had been swimming in a sea of self-pity and knew if she didn't stop it would drown her. Releasing a deep breath, she stood to leave, but then remembered that she'd drunk two butterbeers and really did need to use the loo. Afterward, she washed her hands, splashed some water on her face and steeled herself to go back outside. No one at the front of the pub had seemed to notice her misfortune and she was grateful when soon after, they all agreed it was time to head back to Hogwarts.

* * *

The next day Hermione found herself back in the library despite Ron's protest that she owed him a game of chess. Instead of playing with him, she was lost in the bowels of the library once again, writing vigorously with her new quill, having taken her old one to pieces by plucking furiously at its feathers while reading the texts. Feeling as though there was so much material to read and no time to waste, she'd hoarded several tomes and books practically creating an enclosure around her. The table was an utter mess; parchment, ink, and loose feathers were strewn around, her notebooks were laid opened, on top of each other and yet Hermione knew there was method to her madness. She had been so absorbed in her work for the last hour that she hadn't noticed the figure approach from behind her. Her nib pressed down hard mid-sentence and the ink ran. She caught the scent of Draco before she saw him. Her mouth went dry as she lifted her head up from the parchment.

He walked around to face her.

"Granger…"

Hermione was so surprised to see him that all she did was stare up at him wondering if her imagination had run wild. The longer she stared the more uncomfortable he became. Finally, he put his hands in his pockets and rolled his shoulders back, drawing taller.

"I need to ask you something."

Her eyes glanced down embarrassed, she hoped it had nothing to do with what happened at the Three Broomsticks yesterday. She found she couldn't speak so she merely put her quill down giving him her undivided attention.

"Not here," he said, his stare burning a hole through her. "Meet me tonight at half-past ten outside the Room of Requirement."

"But… but that's past curfew," she said a little scandalized.

He eyed her coolly. "Stolen anymore Veritaserum lately?" he drawled. "I'd be happy to let Professor Slughorn know that his precious little student has been stealing from the stores."

Hermione paled.

"Okay," she agreed. "Tonight."

It looked as if he was about to leave when he stopped. He was staring at her oddly. His hand absently reached for something and she watched a little nervously as he plucked a tiny feather caught in the strands of her hair. He held it delicately between his fingers before letting it fall to the floor. Hermione blushed. There was something inexplicable in the air, almost a current she could feel and it pulled his gaze to hers.

"Don't be late," he swallowed.

Then he left and she watched his retreating figure till he turned the corner, out of sight.

An indescribable feeling was hammering within her chest, expanding and flowing till she felt it pulse at her fingertips. She bit her lip, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips... because she knew.

Tracey Davis didn't matter.

Draco Malfoy was very much still in love with her.

* * *

Later that day after dinner she waited in the common room pretending to read till everyone left. She was, in fact, trying to read to pass the time, except she couldn't concentrate on the words. She was too agitated and her eyes kept stealing glances at the clock. It was twenty minutes past ten and Ron was still up playing a game of chess with Seamus.

Her leg started to jiggle.

Finally, Ron said triumphantly, "Checkmate!"

"I almost had you," groused Seamus.

Ron was chuckling while he explained that he had a tendency to bring his queen out too early. The two boys spoke for a few more minutes before beginning to clear up. Ron gave Hermione a small smile as he left to go to sleep. She waved good night to them both and pretended to get back to her book. She wondered how long she should wait before leaving for it to be safe. She didn't have Harry's cloak or the Marauders Map and worried she'd get caught by Filch. Luckily the Room of Requirement was close by so she'd just wing it.

Putting her book away, she quietly left. Her butterflies had butterflies, that's how much of a nervous wreck she was. The castle was always eerie at night and she cursed Draco Malfoy for having asked her to do this and then herself for having agreed. She reached the tapestry but he was nowhere in sight, not that she could see very clearly. It was so dark and she couldn't risk using any light.

This was a bad idea, she thought, as she considered going back, when suddenly a voice startled her.

"You're late."

She squeaked and his hand clamped over her mouth shushing her.

"Well at least I'm here, aren't I?" she scolded, moving his hand away.

Hermione wasn't certain but she was fairly sure he was scowling at her.

Draco turned to face the wall and paced in front of it three times until a small door appeared. Hermione held her breath, bracing herself to see what he'd been doing all those times he'd snuck off. He pushed the door open and led her inside a dark room. She heard the door close with a soft click and then with a flick of his wand he lit a fire.

Hermione squinted, her eyes adjusting to the light. She looked around and found herself in a living room of sorts, similar to the Gryffindor common room but far smaller and bare. The only things that really gave the place any decoration was a simple rug and a clock over the fireplace.

"What is this?" she asked.

"I needed a quiet place to read and think."

"And have clandestine meetings past curfew?" she added her brow furrowing.

Hermione couldn't believe that this is what he'd been hiding, where he'd been sneaking off to, for hours.

Draco sat down in the armchair and watched her. She shifted uncomfortably from one leg to another, waiting, for what, she wasn't sure.

"What did you want to ask me?" she finally asked breaking the awkward silence.

He looked at her evenly and then said, "I want you to tell me everything about the Chamber of Secrets, about Potter, the diary, all of it—and start from the beginning."

Hermione simply stared. This was the last thing she had imagined him wanting to ask her when he'd approached her in the library. Her mind was racing. He'd found her, asked her to break curfew, brought her to a small cozy room, just the two of them, alone, just so he could ask her about a creepy hidden chamber that housed a Muggle-born killing snake...

Of course.

"It was so long ago," she started sitting down. "Why do you—?"

"What?" he snapped. "Don't trust me, Granger?"

She pursed her lips in thought and saw no real harm in telling him what he wanted to know. Maybe this could be the way to forgiveness.

"You already know most of it," she began. "Your father slipped Voldemort's diary into Ginny Weasley's things at Flourish & Blotts. It bewitched her and she opened the Chamber letting the Basilisk out. Then Ginny was taken, or so Harry and Ron thought. They went with Lockhart into the chamber. From what I understand, Voldemort—Tom Marvolo Riddle, as he was calling himself then—was trying to return, draining Ginny of her life. As she grew weaker, he became stronger. Then he tried to kill Harry too, by releasing the Basilisk. Harry fought him—"

"How did he defeat him?" Draco interjected and there was a look on his face that she recognized from having been with him in potions. He was trying to figure something out.

"Dumbledore sent a Phoenix and the Sorting Hat to help him. Fawkes—the Phoenix—blinded the Basilisk. Gryffindor's sword appeared to Harry in the sorting hat, he stabbed the snake with the sword while it was lunging for him but one of its poisonous fangs had pierced his arm and it almost killed him."

"The Phoenix's tears…" Draco murmured.

Hermione nodded. "It healed his arm and then dropped Riddle's diary into Harry's lap. He took the Basilisk fang and pierced the book, destroying it, as well as Voldemort."

She fell silent and watched as Draco was lost deep in thought, curious as to why, after all this time, he wanted to know what had happened.

"So…" he said, almost to himself, staring past her shoulder. "The poison from the Basilisk fang destroyed the diary?"

Hermione chewed her lip growing nervous. His eyes suddenly focused on her and it was frightening.

"Where is the Chamber of Secrets?"

She hesitated to answer. He was asking far too many questions for her liking. She became acutely aware that she'd given him a lot of information about the cursed place and it sounded very much like he wanted to enter it.

Draco stood slowly, eyeing her. "Where is the Chamber, Granger?" he repeated noticing her reluctance.

She remained silent, afraid that his intention was to go down there, or worse...

His jaw was clenching and unclenching in quiet rage.

"I can't believe after that stunt you pulled I'm still the distrustful one," he hissed. She stood, reaching out to him but he recoiled, turning his back on her. "Just go."

Hermione started to leave and then stopped.

"The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," she said speaking slowly. "If you look for the sink that has a tiny snake scratched on the side of the tap, you've found it... except, Harry entered it using Parseltongue… with a password of some kind."

Draco was quiet for several moments before he turned around to face her. Their eyes locked.

"I'm going to need that password, Granger."

Hermione swallowed. "But Harry—"

"Get it from him."

She desperately wanted to ask him why he wanted to enter the Chamber of Secrets and her heart was beating furiously thinking of how easily Ginny had been manipulated by a handsome sixteen-year-old Slytherin called Tom Riddle and hadn't they at one point believed that Draco could be Salazar's heir? Maybe she was just as naive as Ginny had been. Maybe history was about to repeat itself.

"Okay," she said and he was the first to blink.

"Okay," he echoed.

His eyes seemed to soften searching hers for something.

There seemed to be nothing left to say so she decided to go.

As she was turning the handle Draco called out, "I'm sorry about what happened to you in second year."

Hermione drew a deep breath, reminded of the cruel words he'd spoken to Harry and Ron while they'd been disguised as Crabbe and Goyle.

 _Last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it's only a matter of time before one of them's killed this time… I hope it's Granger._

She whirled around. "Really?" she spat. "Because I heard you were hoping for a Mudblood to die, hoping it'd be me."

Draco frowned, his eyes narrowed. "How do you know I said that?"

"Does it matter?" she scoffed in disbelief.

He simply stared, offering no admission, no apology, nothing.

She didn't know why it was upsetting her so much but she could taste that familiar bile rise up in her throat at the despicable thing he'd said.

"I'll get you your stupid password, but I just want you to know something Draco Malfoy..." she gulped.

"Sometimes I _fucking_ hate you."


	25. Afterward

It was dark when Draco left the hospital wing. After much persuasion, he'd convinced Madam Pomfrey to let him leave late, hoping to slip into the dormitory without being noticed. Except when the time came to go back to the dungeons Snape turned up to escort him, apparently, because it was after hours. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was a sixth-year for Merlin's sake. Mercifully the walk back was quiet, too quiet. Draco had expected Snape to start hounding him with questions when they were alone again but he didn't say a single thing along their way. So when the older wizard stopped short of the entrance to the Slytherin common room and said they had to talk, he wasn't at all surprised. It was him after all who had once told Draco, after his disappointing performance dueling Potter, that he should lull his enemies into a false sense of security, and then strike.

"Yes, _Professor_?"

Snape looked at him with a blank expression. "It concerns Miss Parkinson. I understood she recently got into a quarrel with Daphne Greengrass. I was told you were there when it occurred. What exactly were they arguing about?"

Draco raised a brow. Why the hell would he want to know that?

"Um, nothing important, something about Cormac McLaggen, Sir."

"Oh?" Snape hummed in thought and Draco realized he was waiting for more.

"Daphne said that he'd asked her out over holidays. She got angry when Pansy told her that she'd seen him snogging Granger a few days earlier at Slughorn's party."

Snape grimaced. "I see," he said. "I was simply… curious." Then with a flourish of his robes, he turned the corner leaving Draco alone. He sighed in relief, thanking Merlin that he hadn't tried Legilimency on him again. Whispering the password, he entered the common room. He expected everyone to be fast asleep by now but as he stepped inside he immediately saw both Blaise and Theo sitting near the fireplace.

 _Fuck_.

Theo stood up quickly, glaring at him. "What the hell were you thinking trying to cut it out?" he hissed. Draco clenched his jaw wondering why he'd ever thought Zabini would keep his mouth shut. He looked at the tall Slytherin accusingly and Theo caught the exchange erupting in a surge of anger.

"What, did you really expect him not to tell me why you were in the hospital wing?" he yelled in disbelief. "Have you lost your fucking mind—"

"How many times do I have to clarify that what I do is none of your business, Nott!"

"Fellows, fellows," said Blaise raising his hands. "Let's all just—"

"NO!" bellowed Theo. "He almost got himself killed, and I bet it's over that fucking Mudblood!"

In an instant, Draco had his wand drawn, pointed at Theo. "Get out of my face."

But the lanky boy was laughing, shaking his head as if he'd just heard something amusing. "Look at you," he sniggered. "What… are you the only one who gets to call her that? Is it some sick little fantasy Draco, that you play in your head—"

"Shut up!"

"You going to fuck everything up for a little skirt?" he taunted.

Draco was holding his wand so tightly in his fist that he thought it'd snap.

Blaise who had been watching the exchange in stunned silence, suddenly barked, "Nott, that's enough!"

"Huh?" Theo continued. "Are you a Mudblood lover?"

"I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH!" Blaise yelled shoving Theo. "What the fuck is your problem!"

"My problem," he gritted out, "is that he's going to get his mother killed—"

Suddenly there was a flash and Theo vaulted across the Slytherin common room. He crashed against the stone wall and fell onto the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Fuck!" Blaise cursed, running over to him.

A few third year Slytherins were emerging from their dormitory, still half asleep, having heard the commotion. They stirred awake as they noticed Theo lying crumpled on the floor.

Draco stood stolidly. "He fell," he said eyeing each and every one of them. "Get back into your fucking beds." They scuttled off looking terrified.

"Merlin Draco," Blaise murmured kneeling beside their friend. "He's out cold!"

"Good."

"He's just worried about you —"

"I don't care," Draco clipped. "I'm going to bed. When he comes to, give him a warning—if he brings up any of this, or mentions my mother again, it'll be the Cruciatus curse."

Pursing his lips, Blaise bowed his head.

Draco descended the stairs to the dormitory. He felt exhausted right down to his bones. He climbed into bed, pulling the curtains around and fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

* * *

The next couple of days seemed to Draco, as though, he was sleepwalking. He and Theo weren't speaking and he found spending time with Blaise and Pansy uncomfortable. It had little to do with them and more to do with his own frame of mind; he was a walking rain cloud. When he tried to rest Theo's words would drift back to him in his sleep, he dreamt of his mother being _Avada_ -ed or subjected to the Cruciatus curse and when he tried to eat he imagined what it would be like to be eaten alive by that disgusting snake. In the meantime, Potter seemed to be staring at him, growing more aggravating by the day, so not only did he have to contend with the possibility of the Dark Lord killing him or his mother, but he had to contend with Scarhead, which made everything infinitely harder.

And then there was _her_ and the things they'd done to each other… they'd hurt each other. He didn't know why he believed things could be any different between them. Part of him knew he couldn't really blame her, and yet the logic of it didn't matter. He hated her for what she did.

It didn't matter anyway.

Draco resigned himself to his fate. That night he snuck out to the Room of Hidden Things. Each step heavy with dread, like he was walking the gallows. As he uncovered the Vanishing Cabinet he felt the noose around his neck tighten. Then he set to work trying to repair it. Later he returned to the dungeons, unsuccessful but determined to return the next night, and the night after, and every night after that, until he'd found a way to let the Death Eaters in.

By the fourth night, Draco was growing wary again. He could barely string a sentence together let alone figure out how to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. His mother had sent a letter through Nix warning him that the Dark Lord was growing impatient. He'd made absolutely no progress and the two glasses of Firewhiskey had done little to soothe the ever-mounting panic he found himself drowning in. Unconsciously he realized he'd been rubbing the material over his left forearm, a dreadful terror seizing him. He stepped back from the cabinet and leaned against an old table.

 _It can't be done, he thought, it's hopeless._

The defeat was crippling. He felt so alone.

Taking the gold coin from his pocket he brushed his thumb against the surface. Hermione's last message was still engraved there.

 _I'm so sorry._

He swallowed. His thumb brushed the surface again and he considered replying, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind it was followed by the memory of what she'd done.

 _The entire room was filled with the scent of gardenias…_

Draco flew into an uncontrollable rage and flung the coin across the large room.

 _…it was in your hair. You were covered in it…_

 _EXPULSO_!

 _…spent the last three years falling in love with you…_

 _CONFRINGO!_

He imagined her recounting everything to Potter and Weasley, having a laugh, at his expense and then he was blowing up everything in sight, the room filling with dust as objects flew, shattering into pieces. He rounded on the Vanishing Cabinet his wand raised desperately wanting to destroy the cursed thing. His hand shook with rising ire, but he knew to obliterate it would be like cutting off his own arm.

 _"_ _REDUCTO!"_ he screamed, whirling around. The spell hit a cupboard, practically reducing it to ash and the objects which had been sitting atop of it came crashing to the floor.

Draco was almost panting from the exertion. He stood amidst the wreckage and looked around to find it fitting considering what his life had become. His gaze drifted down to a stone bust of a wizard, who was now unrecognizable because it lay in pieces. Then something caught his eye. His curiosity piqued and he bent down to pick it up.

It was a crown of some sorts, a real girly-looking thing, and yet… he was fairly certain that he'd seen it somewhere before like it was familiar. He placed it on top of a rickety old table trying to trigger the memory but he was drawing a blank. The alcohol and his tantrum had made him sleepy and he realized he'd better go to bed if he was going to survive classes tomorrow. Walking through the ruin he left the Room of Hidden Things.

Draco yawned as he reached the stone wall and muttered the password. He removed the disillusionment charm and made his way through the dimly light common room. He stopped short when he saw Tracey Davis sitting quietly on the couch plaiting her hair.

"Hey," he said awkwardly as she caught sight of him.

She smiled with a glint in her eye. "Sneaking out, Draco?"

He shrugged.

Tracey let out a soft laugh. "Who is she?" she asked.

Draco's brows furrowed considering the girl in front of him and he wondered what she knew.

"Don't play coy," she said biting her lip. "Someone like you… you won't be alone for long."

Draco scoffed, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"What are you doing up?" he asked, trying to change the topic.

She smirked at him and whispered, "Maybe I snuck out too." He clenched his jaw not understanding entirely where she was going with this but before he could figure it out she was standing up. "Well, I'm off to bed," she said flicking the long braid off her shoulder and walking past him. "Goodnight." Then suddenly she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. He was taken aback and looked at her questioningly. She giggled at his dumbstruck expression and walked off.

Shaking his head, Draco decided that all girls were a little mad.

* * *

The Slytherin table was overflowing with food but it was quickly being depleted by Goyle and Crabbe's fast consumption of it. Watching the two, he considered whether it was sitting near them, rather than the threat of death, that killed his appetite. Draco had made sure to always sit with his back to the Gryffindor table. It worked to avoid looking at Hermione but it also gave him limited seating choice and he wished for once he'd just taken the empty seat next to Bulstrode.

"Slow down," he grimaced. "You'll get indigestion eating that way."

"In-die-what?" asked Goyle.

"Nevermind…"

He got up deciding that he'd seen enough of their appalling table manners. As he walked out into the corridor, he raised his head and caught the Ravenclaw girl that he'd seen with Theo that night walking towards him.

 _Just what in the world was she wearing?_

"Hello," she smiled. Draco decided that she looked far too happy for his liking.

He sneered at her. "Bugger off Lovegood."

"I just thought I'd see how you are," she sung. "See I told Neville about the Willows, they must've gotten to you."

"The _what_?"

"Oh," she sighed. "I thought you knew. I found a nest of them near the Greenhouse. They're particularly harmful if you inhale them."

His eyes widened. She really was barmy.

"Sure," he deadpanned. "But I only sniffed a few."

She looked off dreamily with a faraway smile. "Did you end up helping Hermione finish?"

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The Arithmancy project—"

"Oh. Right. Yes. It's over and done."

She was humming in thought and the way she was looking at him unnerved him.

"What?" he snapped.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them she said, "You smell like flowers."

Draco frowned not knowing why he was standing around talking to this insane witch. If anyone caught him he'd never hear the end of it. He made to leave and she didn't stop him.

Groaning he remembered that he had a Charms essay he hadn't yet started on which was due tomorrow. He headed straight to the library realizing he had no time to waste. He scattered his things across a table and read through the essay hastily. There were several books that he could look through, so he went in search of them. He had been skimming the shelf for a particular book when he finally spotted it. Pulling it out he began leafing through it, but couldn't seem to find what he was looking for. He caught a movement in his peripheral view and glanced up from the page.

His stomach lurched.

Hermione was a few steps away from him, wringing her hands.

Draco slid the book back into place and strode past her swiftly. He hid in another aisle. He couldn't stand to be anywhere near her.

So, why he waited for her to emerge and followed her to where she was sitting, he'd never know. He supposed he just wanted to watch her for a little while. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to look at her and it was much easier to do it without having her stare back. He only did so a minute or two because miraculously, after all these years, Weasley had finally managed to find the library. Frowning at the sight of the red-head pulling a chair up near her, he returned to his table.

After an hour or so he'd completed most of his essay. He put down his quill rubbing his face to stay awake. There was no chance of him going to the Room of Hidden things after this, he was already falling asleep. He raised his arms stretching his back out and put them behind his head in a relaxed pose. Leaning back in his chair he considered giving up on the essay and accepting detention instead. Just then a voice called out.

"Hi Draco," said Tracey flicking her long blonde hair.

He gave her a small smile as she sat down next to him taking out her things.

"'Kay if I sit next to you?" she asked.

Draco gestured to the seat finding it funny that she'd already sat down anyway, but what did he care?

She leaned into him and said, "You've been quiet these days… but quiet is good. You used to talk too much anyway."

His eyes snapped to hers about to retaliate but he quickly realized she was teasing him. Tracey had a small smile on her lips. She flicked her hair again and he watched as it slowly fell back over her face.

"Did I?" he asked.

She made an Mm-hmm sound.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. _Just what was going on here, was she flirting with him?_

"What are you working on?" she asked leaning to peer at his parchment. He explained that he had yet to complete his charms essay and that he was practically falling asleep on top of it. Surprisingly, Tracey offered to help him but he declined. They sat together till the library was closing and the next day Draco handed in a subpar essay. At least it was something.

* * *

It came to him the next time he saw Lovegood like he'd been hit with a ton of bricks. He was just thinking it was quite ironic that she'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, what with her head not being screwed on right. Then he realized, with clarity, where he'd seen that funny crown thing before. In the Ravenclaw common room.

Immediately Draco nudged Blaise who was seated next to him in the Great Hall.

"Need to ask you something after lunch," he said.

Pansy leaned in and asked, "What is it?"

Draco shrugged and said it was a Quidditch thing. She immediately lost interest. He felt a little bad for lying but knew he couldn't bring this up in front of her. Blaise would kill him with his bare hands.

"What is it?" he asked once they'd left.

"Remember when I snuck into the Ravenclaw common room with you in Fifth year, when you went to see Padma Patil?"

Blaise looked around frantically as though a team of Aurors had just descended on him.

"Calm down!" snapped Draco. "No one's listening."

The Slytherin turned his dark eyes to his. "I told you to never tell a single soul!"

"I haven't, but I wanted to ask you something."

"Not here," said Blaise fearfully. "She has eyes and ears everywhere."

"You're like a bloody Pygmy Puff with her! If she had eyes and ears everywhere she'd have found out about Ginny We—"

Blaise cast a silencing charm and was staring at Draco with a deadly expression. "Take that to the grave Malfoy."

Rolling his eyes, Draco took out his own wand and released himself from the spell.

"There's a statue in the Ravenclaw common room of Rowena Ravenclaw, the big one, do you remember it?"

Blaise squinted his eyes in thought. "Yeah…"

"She's wearing a crown or something—"

"Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem."

Draco was taken aback.

"How do you know?" he asked.

Blaise gave a little shrug and smirked, "Cho told me."

Draco was shaking his head. "You're sick you know that? You have a problem."

"Don't tell Pansy!" he said suddenly anxious again. "It was before we got together, she doesn't need to know these things."

Shaking his head, Draco began to walk off.

"Wait," his friend called out. "Where are you going?"

"To the library."

He had a free period and he was going read up on anything he could find about Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem.


	26. Revelations

The Hogwarts library was an endless source of knowledge but he only needed one book– _Hogwarts: A History._ Skimming the pages, he searched for Rowena Ravenclaw. She'd be in here somewhere, it was her diadem after all and she was one of the founding...

 _The Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw._

There it was… a hand-drawn sketch of it, next to a short passage.

Looking out for Madam Pince, he ripped the page from the book, closed it shut and slid it back onto the shelf. Checking the time, he considered whether or not to go straight to the Room of Hidden Things and then decided it was too risky. He waited for what seemed like forever and finally made his way under the cover of night and a disillusionment charm.

Taking the page from his pocket he unfolded it and held it against the Diadem.

It was an exact match.

He couldn't believe his luck. He'd found it!

The Diadem was supposed to bestow wisdom on anyone who wore it. He wondered if it would help his chances at repairing the Vanishing Cabinet. He held it in his hands, inspecting it. Draco couldn't fathom how wearing a tiara on his head would bestow wisdom of any kind, the most it'd do was make him look like a right tosser. He realized one thing though; for something so delicate it felt… heavy. He put it down overcome with an eerie foreboding. His eyes studied the large gemstone at its center and the longer he stared at it, the more it seemed like something was looking back.

Draco gulped his Adam's apple bobbing. He'd been around enough dark objects to sense dark magic when he was near it, and this thing might have once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, but it was something else now.

The huge room suddenly seemed frightening. Draco turned his neck so fast it cricked. He thought he'd heard something. Then without understanding why he practically ran out, straight back to the dungeons. His heart had been thudding so loudly that when he finally reached the common room he was shaking.

It was still quite early so he wasn't surprised to find a few Slytherins still up whiling away. Pansy was lounging on the sofa flipping through one of those gossip magazines while Blaise and Theo were playing chess. They were the first to notice him. Draco and Theo both avoided each other's gaze and he fell down on a vacant armchair opposite Pansy, who gave him a small smile.

Once he sat down and allowed his heart rate to slow, he felt like an absolute git for getting spooked like that. It was just a crown, what could it possibly do to him? Just then Tracey walked out of the dormitory with Astoria and Daphne. Upon seeing him, a smile played on her lips. She whispered something to the Greengrass sisters and left them to sit next to him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Pansy raise an eyebrow. He pretended not to have seen and continued talking to Tracey.

"So what are you doing this weekend?" she asked.

He gave a casual shrug. "Nothing special I suppose."

He watched as her face lit up. "I might go to Hogsmeade," she commented.

"Draco goes there all the time," said Pansy abruptly. His eyes snapped to hers. Just what did she think she was doing… Pansy tilted her head subtly toward Tracey, her eyes widening suggestively.

"I do," he said matter-of-factly. _Because I have Madam Rosmerta under an Imperius curse._ "If you like," he said clearing his throat. "I could meet you there and we could do something."

Wearing a shy smile, she asked a little quietly, "Are you asking me out on a date Draco Malfoy?"

"I am," he replied confidently.

She bit her lip. "Okay, then it's a date."

They made plans and a few minutes later she said goodnight. He waited for her to be out of eyesight before turning to Pansy, who was pretending to be the least bit interested.

"Happy now?" he snapped.

She rolled her eyes and muttered something about knowing what was best for him. He scoffed but didn't necessarily disagree. His ideas were always bad ideas.

That night Draco had trouble sleeping. He tossed and turned, trying to shake off the fear he'd felt earlier. It was the Diadem. There was something wrong with it and he was going to find out just what. He hoped the answers lay somewhere in one of the books at Hogwarts. Other than his Quidditch training and his Prefect duties, Draco could spend his free time scouring the shelves and if the answers weren't there, he'd ask Nix to bring him what he needed from the Malfoy library.

* * *

After countless hours of pouring over different books, he realized the answer wasn't in a book. He'd only learned that the Diadem was lost—had been lost, so in theory, he needed to find out where it had been before. He knew for certain that Rowena Ravenclaw owned it and that it was found to be lost shortly after her death. So perhaps she'd passed it on to a relative, and so he'd followed that thread, only to discover that she'd been murdered. He doubled back to the _Hogwarts: A History_ and was about to give up when he came across the section of the Ghosts of Hogwarts.

 _The Grey Lady._

He knew her, she was Ravenclaw's house ghost. He'd seen her floating about in the corridors before. He called for Nix who apparated to him with a pop.

"Master Draco calls Nix?"

"Nix, this is very important. I need you to bring me any books we have from the Malfoy library on the Grey Lady."

The elf looked up at him a little fearfully. "But Master Lucius—"

"Father is in Azkaban. I'm head of Malfoy Manor now, do you understand? You're allowed in the library. Do it immediately."

Nix nodded and disapparated without another word.

A few hours later, as Draco was undressing to step into the shower, Nix apparated into the bathroom, startling him.

"What are you doing in here Nix?"

"Master said to bring him any books on the Grey Lady—"

"Yes, but not in the bathroom while I'm half-naked!"

Nix began whimpering like a wounded animal.

"No, no," he said quickly, taking the book. "That was quick work. Brilliant, really."

Suddenly the elf was smiling again, staring up at him.

"We only had the one?" asked Draco.

Nix began to nod frantically. "Nix looked everywhere."

Draco sighed hoping it would lead to something.

"Okay," he said and then dismissed him.

He waited a minute or two to fully undress, fearing that Nix would randomly apparate back in. Barmy house-elves; personal boundaries, that's what they needed.

Draco changed his tune when he sat up in bed that night skimming the book. Although the book had a stasis charm on it, it was still falling apart in his hands. Most pages were illegible and it took him a while to understand. Nix could pop into the bathroom all he liked. He'd brought Draco, Helena Ravenclaw's diary. At first, Draco thought Nix must've gotten confused but as he flipped through the pages he realized that the Grey Lady, Ravenclaw's ghost, and Helena Ravenclaw, Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter were one and the same.

Closing the diary with care, he realized that not only did he know who he had to speak to, but that now he had leverage. Her personal diary.

* * *

Strangely enough, finding her in the castle had been the hardest part. He hadn't really ever realized how big the bloody place was until he was looking for a wandering ghost.

Finally, he caught sight of her floating along a corridor on the second floor.

"Er... miss?" he called out to her. "Grey Lady?"

She stopped and turned with a haughty scowl on her face.

"I need to ask you about Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem."

Her frown turned into a mocking smile. "You are hardly the first student to covet the Diadem," she said. "I cannot help you."

"I don't covet it, I already have it," he said making a show of looking at his nails.

The ghost looked at him skeptically.

"I found it," he said, as a way of explanation. "Here in the castle."

She floated closer toward him. "You found the Diadem?"

"Didn't I just say that?" he asked.

"But how?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I'm not telling you that. Finders keepers _Helena_ , I'm not here to return it unless there's a finder's fee."

She looked utterly bewildered and Draco smirked triumphantly.

"Then it's as I suspected," she said after several moments. "You wish to keep it for yourself, as I did… wit beyond measure is—"

"Yeah, I've heard the whole spiel and I'm already a borderline genius so don't really care to go walking around wearing a tiara on my head."

The ghost frowned and asked, "Then why have you sought me?"

"There's something off about it... I thought if anyone knew anything, it'd be you."

"What more could I possibly tell you?"

"How about you start talking, and I'll give you this?" he said, revealing her diary from his robes.

Her eyes widened and Draco admired his theatrical flair for things.

She remained quite still, floating in midair, staring down at him, but Draco stood resolute.

"I stole the diadem from my mother," she began. "To make myself cleverer. I ran away with it. My mother, they say, never admitted that the diadem was gone, but pretended that she had it still. She concealed her loss, my dreadful betrayal, even from the other founders of Hogwarts. Then she fell ill, fatally ill..."

Draco listened carefully as she spoke and fought to keep a straight face even as she told him about the Bloody Baron.

"You hid it in a hollow tree, in a forest in Albania?" asked Draco after he'd absorbed everything. He watched her nod her head once. _Yet it miraculously turned up at Hogwarts, in the Room of Hidden Things, he thought._

Eyeing her carefully, he asked, "Who else knew you hid it there?"

Helena stared at him in silence. He folded his arms. There was more to this story and he wasn't leaving till he'd gotten the truth from her.

"I had no idea. He was... flattering. He seemed to... to understand... to sympathize—"

"A name, I need a name," he pressed.

Her voice dropped above a whisper. "He used to go by the name of Tom Riddle."

* * *

 _Six Months Earlier in Azkaban..._

It was his first visit to the prison since he'd taken the Dark Mark.

"Hello father," said Draco.

"Son."

Draco had visited him twice before with his mother but he could never get used to seeing his father like this, in tattered robes, unshaven and unclean. Nothing like the proud wizard he once resembled.

"Your mother has told me what has been asked of you," he said softly. "I am proud of you, son."

He remained silent. He'd waited years to hear those words and they were finally being spoken here, in all places.

"So very proud," he repeated and for a moment he thought he saw his father's eyes glisten in the dim light. "Listen to me Draco, there is something important you must know."

He sat up straighter and leaned forward on the table. His father proceeded to tell him about a diary he'd once had in his possession, the same diary that had opened the Chamber of Secrets in his second year. He went on to explain how enraged the Dark Lord had been when he learned of what had happened to the diary.

"It could not have merely been a dark object as I believed it to be... his fury—I thought he might kill me. It was far more important than I'd imagined. I think… I think I know what it was…"

Then his father told him what a Horcrux was.

"And you believe the diary was this thing," said Draco vacillating between awe and horror. "A Horcrux?"

"Yes, yes," he said a little wild-eyed. "It is how the Dark Lord has been able to come back from the dead… and I believe… _yes_ … it makes sense… there must be more of them."

"More?" Draco's brow furrowed. "How do you know?"

"If it were me... if I were to do it… I'd have made at least another."

"Another diary?" he asked.

"No!" his father tutted as if he'd gotten a potion's ingredient wrong. "The soul Draco. I'd put it in something else… something significant... valuable... somewhere worthy of the soul." His father's eyes glazed over as if in deep thought. Then they focused on him again. "You must never repeat what I've told you, Draco, never. Only if, if the time came, only if…"

His father was a raving madman.

"If what?" he snapped. "Why are you telling me this?"

He lent over the table, his long unkempt hair falling into his haggard face and then suddenly he was Lucius Malfoy again. "It is always good to have a contingency plan."

Draco clenched his jaw tightly, his hands balling into fists. "So you expect me to fail—"

"This should never have fallen to you," he rasped with a pained expression.

"He chose me— _ME_!" he hissed vehemently.

His fathers face fell. "Yes Draco," he conceded quietly. "It is you he has chosen…"

"And it is you who is sitting in Azkaban father, not me."

Suddenly those eyes that were so much like his, hardened, alert and alive. "What is it you want to say to me?"

Draco swallowed, bracing himself for the backlash of his defiance. "You should've told me what you were planning… I could've helped, I would've done everything I could to stop them from leaving Hogwarts. If Potter had been alone, if he didn't think he had a fighting chance, he might've just handed you the Prophecy and we wouldn't be in this mess!"

His father was staring at him with a stony face.

" _Them_?" he echoed softly. "Who would you have stopped leaving Hogwarts Draco?"

"His band of merry friends, who else?"

"Yes," he said warily, scrutinizing Draco closely. " _They_ were there."

Draco tore his eyes away.

Azkaban was already ruining him.

* * *

As soon as the name left the Grey Lady's lips, Draco suspected what the Diadem truly was. To say it was merely another dark object just didn't sit right. It's why he'd gone digging into things because it wasn't an object; it was _alive_. That's why he'd run.

Feeling a little sorry for Helena Ravenclaw he proposed to leave her diary somewhere in the Hogwarts library for her. She thanked him and asked what he would do with the Diadem.

He told her quite plainly that he didn't know.

"If you've truly found it," she'd said. "You should destroy it."

And so he'd agreed to do exactly that. _Horcrux or not, he thought, I don't want that thing around._ He'd returned to the Room of Hidden Things and tried to destroy it, and the more he tried and failed, the more it affirmed his belief that the Diadem was, in fact, a Horcrux.

The next day, Draco arrived early at the Three Broomsticks so that he'd have time to remove the curse he'd placed on Madam Rosmerta. Upon first realizing the gravity of being in possession of the Dark Lord's Horcrux, he thought he may be able to use it as leverage but to try to blackmail him would probably end in Draco's death. Finding the cursed thing changed everything though. Part of him wished he never had because for the first time in his life he had the opportunity to play the hero and he honestly wanted no part in it. That sort of thing was Potter's business. So he had, at one point considered just handing it to him. Then his next thought had been to hand it to Dumbledore… come clean… but the truth was that he didn't trust either Potter or Dumbledore. Sure, he had a knack for surviving near-death experiences and Dumbledore was a great wizard but Potter was extremely impulsive and Dumbledore trusted Snape, a loyal servant of the Dark Lord. No, if he handed it to either of them and they failed to kill him, there'd be a bounty over his head.

No, he had to get rid of it himself. At least then he could be sure. He could do it in secret and if it didn't work, the Dark Lord would never have to know.

Luckily for him, he hadn't yet told the barmaid to give Slughorn the poisoned bottle of wine for Dumbledore. Case and point–he couldn't believe how he'd gotten away with it all, right under the old fool's nose. Not that he'd gotten away with it in the sense of succeeding in killing the headmaster, but that he'd managed to _Imperio_ someone, to sneak in poison, as well as a cursed necklace. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched. He'd been so deep in his own dragonshit that he'd forgotten all about Katie Bell. At least, he thought, consoling himself, she was in St. Mungo's recovering and would be fine. His palms were sweaty as he sat at the pub waiting for Tracey who said would meet him after shopping with Millicent. Draco didn't have to wait for long because a few minutes later she was walking through the door.

When she arrived she suggested they move to the table at the back. Any bloke knew that that was the snogging table, it's why he'd sat there with Hermione, it's why Theo had immediately sensed what he was up to, it was also why he hadn't sat there for this date… but what could he say?

"Come on," she said sweetly pulling him by the hand. He followed. The thing with Tracey was that it was easy to forget the reality of things as they were. She had this way of making him laugh even when he didn't really feel like laughing and they had a lot in common. They were in the middle of reminiscing the famous Bulstrode ball they'd both been forced to attend when they were young.

"Mrs. Bulstrode was so sloshed by the end of the night. Remember when she fell into the water fountain, robes, gown and all!" she laughed.

"And Mr. Bulstrode had to jump in after her," he chortled. "Yeah, that was hilarious!"

"And do you remember what your mother said?"

He shook his head.

Tracey raised her chin with a serious expression. Tight-lipped she said, "Lucius, do be a dear and offer poor Margaret your robes."

Draco burst out laughing. "I remember now," he said, barely able to breathe. "The look on Father's face when she told him that she didn't care if they were silk..." Then his laughter slowly subsided as he thought of his father sitting all alone in a cell in Azkaban. She immediately realized the shift and began to apologize for bringing it up.

"I didn't mean to be so thoughtless," she winced.

He waved it off, clearing his throat. "Knowing father, he probably has those guards bringing him braised duck and French wines," he said trying to make light of it. But the cheerful mood had dissipated and she was looking at him earnestly. She raised her hand and touched his arm.

"I really am sorry Draco," she whispered. "I was sad to hear he was sent there."

And he didn't know what made him say it but he did.

"I really wanted to kill Potter," he barked a hollow laugh. "I was so angry... but I think it's actually Father I'm angry at."

Tracey's eyes softened, searching his face.

"I really like you Draco," she whispered edging toward him.

He swallowed and he realized very late that she was leaning in to kiss him and that maybe he should let her. He tilted forward a little to meet her lips when he heard an audible gasp. He snapped his head toward the sound.

His mouth went dry.

Hermione reeled, almost knocking Madam Rosmerta to the floor. She mumbled an apology, her face flushed and ran into the bathroom.

Tracey let out a little giggle and snorted, "She's such a prude."

Draco frowned. He had a strange urge to follow Hermione into the bathroom. She'd looked upset and he couldn't help but feel a little guilty like somehow he was betraying her... and that was... ridiculous.

For a long time, he'd thought she'd only tried to apologize to assuage her own guilt, or maybe to get another confession from him, the one she had actually been after that night. But there was something about her expression...

"What are you thinking?" asked Tracey.

For a split-second, he thought about telling her the truth, but he imagined how warped it would sound if he did. He took a big swig of his butterbeer. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Shall we start heading back?"

"Already?" she pouted.

Draco smirked, "Challenge you to a round of Black Witch."

She was laughing, a deep throaty chuckle, "Oh, you're on _Mister Malfoy_."

"Don't get too cocky. If Theo plays with us, he'll probably win," he said standing up.

Tracey smiled, "So, you two are talking again?"

He shrugged, not realizing their fall out had been noticed. "Suppose so. One-syllable words… it's a work in progress."

"I'm happy to hear that," she giggled.

Draco offered her, her robes, grateful that she'd left it at that. He put some coins on the table and she slipped her hand in his as they left.

That night after everyone had gone to bed Draco lay wide awake. He'd just spent hours with Tracey but he couldn't seem to get Hermione out of his head. He thought about how many messages she'd sent him, how she'd tried speaking to him in the library, how she'd been laughing with Weasley in Defense Against the Dark Arts and how he'd secretly enjoyed breaking up their little party when he was forced to sit next to her. He hadn't even realized they were friends again. _When had that happened_?

And then Draco had become so mesmerized by the blush that spread across her cheeks when she couldn't answer Snape's question. It reminded him of how she'd looked that night when he'd had his head between her legs.

Rubbing his face, he willed his mind not to go there again.

He'd locked that door.

* * *

It had begun to drizzle outside and a cold breeze swept through the corridors. He'd tried to use different spells, stronger ones but the result was the same. The Diadem didn't have a scratch on it. It dawned on him then that there were only a handful of people who knew how to destroy a Horcrux—the same people who knew how the diary was destroyed and perhaps only one of them, would tell him the truth.

But he couldn't possibly ask her… could he?

He found Hermione in the first place he thought to look for her. As he approached her, he felt her stiffen and slowly raise her head.

Draco walked around to face her.

"Granger…"

She just stared at him and it was unnerving.

 _Just ask her and get it over with, he thought._

He slid his hands in his pockets and rolled his shoulders back, drawing taller.

"I need to ask you something."

She put her quill down and raised her eyes.

"Not here," he said. "Meet me tonight at half-past ten outside the Room of Requirement."

Her mouth fell open a little. "But... but that's past curfew," she said.

He couldn't believe it. After all the rules she'd broken, she was still an indignant cow about breaking curfew. Why the sly, moody, self-righteous, hypocritical little witch!

"Stolen anymore Veritaserum lately?" he drawled. "I'd be happy to let Professor Slughorn know that his precious little student has been stealing from the stores."

He watched in amusement as her face slackened, defeated.

"Okay," she agreed. "Tonight."

That had been a lot easier than he'd expected it to be. He turned to leave and then stopped. There was a small white feather stuck in the strands of her hair. Before he could stop himself he reached to pluck it out. He heard the lock click open. He looked at it for a moment. He heard the handle turn. His eyes drifted on their own accord to meet hers and he dropped the feather.

She blushed.

And just like that, the door was open.

"Don't be late," he swallowed nervously.

An indescribable feeling was hammering within his chest, expanding and ﬂowing till he felt it simmering beneath the bitterness and anger. When he was finally alone again, inside his dormitory, he cradled his head in his hands, cussing out loud... because he knew.

No matter how many locks he put on the door, he was still in love with her.

The room still existed.

* * *

Hermione had left, slamming the door shut behind her. The sound seemed to echo through the room and her words haunted him.

 _Sometimes I fucking hate you._

His mind was racing trying to figure out how she had found out. His memory of it had faded but he'd said it, all those years ago, to Crabbe and Goyle in the Slytherin common room. There was no one else around and surely if there was it would've been another Slytherin and he couldn't think of anyone, Crabbe and Goyle included, who'd want to tattle. Then he recalled that those two lugs had been acting strangely and he'd thought something was off…

Draco drew a deep breath. It made little difference to how she knew. The damage was done, years ago, and there was nothing he could do.

He spent the next whole day feeling like an absolute tosser and the day after he began to think that she'd probably realize that she didn't owe him anything and forget all about getting him the password to the Chamber of Secrets. Draco dragged himself to the library pretending to do homework when in reality he was trying to find anything and everything about Tom Riddle.

Coming up empty-handed he decided, getting out his homework, that he may as well do something productive. As he was unrolling some parchment he looked up to see Hermione enter the library with a stack of books pressed to her chest. She looked at him purposefully and walked down one of the aisles. He took a subtle survey of the room and seeing that no one else was watching he stood to follow her.

She was waiting for him. As he approached her, she took out a small piece of folded parchment and handed it to him. He opened it greedily.

"What the hell is this?" he frowned reading the letters.

She shrugged as if it must be obvious. "The password."

"It's a bunch of gibberish!"

In a sarcastic tone she spat, "Well excuse me, I'm not as fluent in Parseltongue as I used to be. Just hiss it like a snake Draco, can't be that hard considering…"

His eyes narrowed on her but he decided not to take the bait. "Are you sure it'll work?"

"I broke it down phonetically, so yes."

Running a hand through his hair he asked her to say it just once. He wanted to be certain to say it the right way. She hesitated for a moment, glancing around, but then hissed something out.

Draco pursed his lips. "I don't think that's right," he told her. "Try saying it again."

She let out a huff of indignation as if insulting her ability to enunciate was a grave offense. She took a breath and repeated it.

"I still think you're getting it wrong," he hummed.

Snatching the piece of paper from him she read it out loud slowly, syllable for syllable and then again, all at once. He tried hard not to but he couldn't help it, he laughed. It suddenly dawned on her what he'd been doing and she took the stack of books in her hands and began whacking him with them. He raised his hands in surrender, still chuckling at how incredibly gullible she was. She'd never survive Slytherin.

"Alright, alright," he said smiling brightly at her. "Your books are heavy and they bloody hurt."

She was smiling back and their eyes met. Then it was as if they both suddenly remembered that they were meant to be angry with one another and grew serious again.

"So," said Draco, clearing his throat. "It'll work?"

"Yes," she said exasperatedly. "For the last time, it'll work,"

Draco looked at the garbled letters, praying that she was right.

"Wait," she said grabbing his arm when he turned to leave.

He stared at where her fingers clutched to him with a frown. "For what?" he said shoving her off.

Hermione licked her lips and swallowed. "Shouldn't I go with you?"

That was out of the question.

"Go where?" Draco asked without blinking.

He watched as her forehead creased.

"TO—" she lowered her voice. "The Chamber of Secrets."

With a blank expression on his face, he said, "I haven't the faintest idea of what you're on about Granger."

Her mouth fell open and he took that as his cue to run away quickly.


	27. Forgiving

The corridors were dark and half-lit. Draco's eyebrow's furrowed with confusion as she approached him.

"Granger, what are you doing here?"

"Patrol. I switched with Anthony Goldstein— but listen," she said pulling him into a classroom. "I want to show you something."

Unfolding the Marauders Map, she laid it on a desk and tapped her wand to it. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." At once, the detailed plan of Hogwarts appeared, covered in tiny, labeled black dots, most of which were clustered in the common rooms.

"It's a map of the castle, each dot is a person, see, that's us and— OW!"

Draco had grabbed her by her arm, his face looming over hers.

"This is how you've been finding me!" he hissed furiously. "In Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, outside the Room of Requirement, you've been spying on me this whole time!"

"It's not like that," she argued. "I was just trying to help—"

"I don't need any help!"

"Yes, you do! You wouldn't even know where the Chamber is without me, and, by the way, you're welcome!"

His angry eyes bore into hers. She was so tired of being at each other's throats. Releasing a deep breath, she whispered, "Draco, you don't have to do everything alone…"

She watched as his grey eyes softened. With a sigh, he slowly let go and looked down at the map. Hermione rubbed where he'd grabbed her, leaving more bruises.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.

"It's Harry's."

He frowned in thought. "And he just let you have it?"

She pursed her lips, reluctant to answer. Looking down at the Map she began to smooth out the parchment ignoring the astounded look on Draco's face. Neither of them spoke and with each passing moment, Hermione felt like she'd just given away a lot more than the map.

After several more moments, he said in a quiet voice, "I don't want it."

Her head snapped up. " _What?_ " She'd practically handed him a pot of gold and he didn't want it?

"Make sure to put it back exactly where you found it so Potter doesn't notice."

"Draco—"

"NO!" he barked, slamming his palm on the desk. "You're not coming with me."

She felt crushed. "I can't believe you still don't trust me! I've never breathed a word to anyone about anything. I could've used the Map to follow you, to find out what you were doing, but I didn't—"

"I know," he swallowed. "I know… and I'm giving it back to you… trusting that you won't follow me there. Trust works both ways. So believe me when I say, the less you know, the better."

"But—"

" _Hermione_ , please…"

His grey eyes were dancing over her face and she was spellbound by them, by the way he'd finally spoken her name again.

"Fine," she whispered. "I won't… but I'll hang on to the map, in case Harry gets any ideas about using it."

His brows furrowed in concern. "Aren't you afraid Potter will find out you've taken it?"

Looking at the floor, she corrected quietly, "I'm more afraid of him finding out _why_ I've taken it."

There was a deafening silence following her confession and Hermione felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She raised her eyes slowly to meet his. He glanced away, looking uneasy.

"Let's go," he said clearing his throat. "Theo and MacMillan are on duty too, it's best we split up for the rest of patrol."

Then without giving her another glance he left.

The next night, Hermione drew the curtain around her bed and watched as Malfoy's little black dot disappeared from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Putting the map away she curled up, stroking the bracelet, wondering what was in the Chamber of Secrets he so desperately wanted.

* * *

The weekend was upon them and neither Hermione nor Draco had so much as looked at each other, let alone spoken to each other. So, when, midway through Arithmancy, her coin began to burn, she was startled. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, she took a quick peek at the message.

 _Library, Ghosts of the Great Lake, 2010_

Licking her lips, Hermione quashed the nervous flutter in her stomach.

The rest of the day seemed to drag on and she was grateful when she finally took a seat next to Ginny for dinner. Others joined soon after and then in an instant the Great Hall was filled with the chatter of students and the clink-clink of cutlery. Ginny was in the middle of telling them what they'd been doing recently in Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class when suddenly they heard a commotion coming from the Slytherin table.

Tracey Davis was quarreling so loudly with Draco that the Hall seemed to have gone quiet trying to overhear.

"Look, I'm not an idiot!" she demanded, visibly upset. "Just tell me who it is!"

"Stop," said Pansy in a hushed voice. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Suddenly Tracey's blue eyes were darting between Pansy and Draco as if figuring something out.

"So it's you!" she scoffed in disbelief.

Draco tried calming her, telling her there was nothing going on, but she wouldn't hear of it. Standing up with as much dignity as she had left, she stormed out of the Great Hall.

"What are you all staring at?" spat Pansy challengingly. The silence broke and everyone dropped their gazes, whispering to each other about what they'd just witnessed.

Lavender looked gleeful.

"Well that didn't last long," she chuckled. To her surprise she caught Ron rolling his eyes and playing with his food. Ginny peeped at the Slytherins over her shoulder. "Do you really think he's still hung up over Pansy? That probably wouldn't sit well with Bl—Zabini."

"Suppose not," said Parvati with a little shrug. "But if I had to choose a Slytherin I'd go for Nott. Something about him…"

Hermione stared at her plate while the conversation continued. It hadn't occurred to her till now, but she hadn't seen Draco and Tracey together in the last few days. She raised her eyes tentatively to look at him but he was no longer there.

But Nott was, and his eyes were on hers, glaring at her accusingly.

The intensity of it scared her making her glance away.

* * *

Hermione swallowed.

Every time they stood this close it felt like she was seeing him for the first. He was striking. Those eyes, those lips… the angular lines of his face.

"What is it?" she asked waiting expectantly; waiting for him to tell her he wasn't going to see Tracey anymore, that he didn't know what he'd been thinking.

"I," he hesitated, his eyes dancing over her face. "I need your help… you knew Sirius Black, right?"

Something ran cold in her, like ice sliding down her back. Disappointment and anger. His death was still new, still raw and there was so much Malfoy in Draco, that she'd forgotten he was part Black. Hermione couldn't keep the venom out of her voice when she answered.

"Before your aunt killed him… yes."

His eyes burned a hole through her. "I'm not going to apologize for something I didn't do."

Hermione leaned in close and knew if anyone was watching they'd think they were in the middle of an intimate exchange.

"You rarely apologize for your own mistakes," she derided. "Why would you start on behalf of dear Bellatrix?"

Draco's eyes hardened, like water freezing over.

"Maybe there are some things you can't take back, maybe, 'I'm sorry', doesn't cut it."

Her breath left her. They weren't talking about him anymore, they were talking about her, talking about the Veritaserum. It was then that she realized that he was still holding on to it, had only swept it under the rug, because he needed her, but hadn't forgiven her.

She let out a deep sigh. "What about Sirius?"

Then it was his turn to lean in and he was so close, it was tempting.

"Did he ever talk about his brother," he whispered. "Regulus Black?"

She considered not answering just to spite him, because this wasn't what she wanted—to be an accomplice and not a lover.

"A little… he became a Death Eater when he was sixteen and he…he..." She found she couldn't finish the sentence.

"I once overheard my mother ask my father if the Dark Lord had done something to him. She seemed to believe he had."

Hermione was chewing on her lip, considering things. "Sirius thought so too," she admitted. "He told Harry as much, but no one knows for certain..."

And then she saw it; the fear he was trying hard to mask.

"Maybe he ran away Draco," she said grasping at straws. "Maybe he's still alive somewhere, hiding."

He was nodding but it was obvious that he didn't believe her. "I just… I really need to know."

The look on his face had a powerful effect on her. She felt an overwhelming need to comfort him, to protect him and her fingers reached for his. He flinched, stepping back from her. It hurt but she pretended not to notice.

"I'll help you," she offered. "We'll figure it out."

Draco stared at her for several moments and Hermione wondered what would win out, his anger or his desperation.

"Okay," he finally whispered. "Meet me tonight, after ten. I think I know where to start."

* * *

They'd been researching for what felt like hours but looking at the clock, had only been forty-five minutes. His eyes drifted, tired and bored, landing on the gold bracelet on Hermione's wrist. She was still wearing it and he felt foolish for not realizing what it meant. Draco asked himself when it had started for her. Was it when they'd spent New Years together, was it the bracelet that had seduced her… was it him, his mouth, his tongue?

 _I'm more afraid of him finding out why I've taken it._

She'd helped him, lied for him, stolen from Potter for him… she'd come for him, screamed his name—

He blinked, realizing Hermione had been watching him stare and he quickly glanced back to the text in front of him.

"We should also check the articles that were released in the Prophet," he said casually. "There might be something there."

There was no answer and when he raised his head again she was watching him with a solemn expression.

"Don't you miss me at all?"

He felt his throat constrict and looked back down again. The letters blurring into one another.

"Draco, that night, I—"

"I'm almost done with this one," he said abruptly cutting her off. "We'll swap in a minute."

Hermione sighed, her voice wavering as she whispered, "Do you think about it?"

Did he think about it? Yes. Did he want to talk about it or any other night she was referring to? No. So he decidedly ignored her, flipping the page. Before he knew what was happening Hermione had grabbed the book from his hand and flung it hard against the wall. He flinched his eyes widening in surprise. She looked calm, which was even more frightening because it could only mean that inside she was seething. Hermione Granger had just thrown a book... _a book_.

"How can you be so cold and unforgiving?"

"Look," he tried saying quietly. "Just calm down."

"We're going to talk about this."

"The last time you wanted to talk about something I didn't have much of a choice in responding," he snapped back. Sensing the wrong direction things were taking, he got up, muttering about all of this having been a bad idea and began to put everything away.

Hermione grabbed her wand and cast a spell he didn't recognize at the door. Draco raised a questioning eyebrow at her. He walked to it slowly and tried opening it, tugging on the handle.

Locked, he scoffed, of course.

He took out his wand and muttered _Alohomora_ but it didn't work. Just what the hell—

"I knew you were using this room…"

He tried using sheer force but it was sealed tight.

"I needed to know," she stuttered. "I needed to know what you were doing in here—"

He shook his head, trying to shake off her words and made one last futile effort yanking on the door.

Hermione sighed. "I'm not unlocking it till you speak to me."

He swiveled around his jaw clenched. If she wanted to play, then he'd play. Sitting down on the couch Draco folded his arms. He'd mastered this game having played it with his parents several times growing up. The last time he'd played had been the first time he went to visit his father in Azkaban.

Catching on, Hermione plonked back down on the armchair opposite him and folded her arms.

Of course, she'd rise to the challenge. Stupid. Little. Gryffindor.

He only had to glare at her in silence for a minute before she cracked. She jumped from her chair.

"Draco, please," she pleaded. "I was scared, I had to know what you were doing and I didn't trust you to tell me the truth. How long are you going to punish me for one mistake? It's not fair—"

" _Fair?"_ he spat, unable to hold his temper. "My father is in Azkaban, my mother is hostage to the Dark Lord, I have a death sentence on my head and the last person I ever believed to be capable of doing something so underhanded and low, drugged me—!"

"I know," she choked on the verge of tears and suddenly she was climbing onto his lap and her hands were running all over him and her body was warm and he was drowning in her scent.

"I had to be sure," she explained. " _I had to be_ , you almost… we both know what you did…"

He tried to look away from her, burning with the shame of what he'd done to Katie Bell but Hermione was holding his face, her stare unrelenting. "I'm not asking you to confess," she said quickly. "I'm just asking you to let me in again."

Let her in? No, no, no, fuck no. He couldn't.

"It wasn't real Granger..." he said wrenching his face from her grasp, wanting to hurt her enough to get her away. "How could it have ever been when I've only ever wanted you from afar? You were just _forbidden_. That's what I thought I was in love with… the idea of Hermione Granger."

She stared at him, expressionless. "You don't mean that," she said finally and then to his horror he began to feel the heat of her palms flat against his chest, as she rubbed up and down. Her hands slid up his shoulders, touching the skin at the collar of his jumper, clutching to his neck. "You don't," she echoed, burying her face in the crevice of his neck. "You're just being cruel…"

His mind was screaming at him to just push her off, but his body wouldn't cooperate.

Then her lips were pressed against his collarbone. The contact burned him. She began kissing a trail up his neck and along his jaw. Draco closed his eyes and his head lolled back, he didn't want to let go of the anger but he could feel it slipping away. It was her presence; her body heat, the pleading tone, he was weak against all of it. Her nose lightly brushed his, like she was dipping her toes into water to see if it was warm enough to take the plunge. And he knew this but was too tired to care.

It was exhausting pretending not to be in love with Hermione Granger once he realized he irrevocably was.

She sighed his name against his mouth and kissed him, slow and tentative, one hand fisting his hair.

He kissed her back, surrendering, and everything else seemed to fade like the world had gone mute.

It was nothing like the first time, it was soft and timid, like her. Restraining himself he allowed her to lead. He found he much preferred being kissed by her than kissing her, to feel her desire instead of his own. As the kiss deepened she became restless, squirming impatiently on top of him. She nipped and sucked his bottom lip, moving her tongue against his to taste him and the sensation pulsed through his entire body waking him. He could feel himself hardening beneath her heat. She sighed into his mouth again. His hold on her tightened, digging his fingers into her skin. He gripped her hips pushing up into her and he hadn't meant to, hadn't meant to lose that restraint so quickly.

Pathetic, that's what he was, pathetic and weak for her.

He broke the kiss. Angry with himself for allowing her to coax him into forgetting.

"I can't," he said shaking his head.

Hermione still had her hand in his hair and he was still hard.

"You can… it can't feel like this and not be real."

Draco was trying to untangle himself from her and those words. He couldn't think when she was like this and she knew because she clutched to him pressing her body and lips back against him. Her tongue tried to lure him out. She ground her hips into his and he groaned into her mouth.

She was manipulating him, seducing him into forgiving her and it was working. But there were all those other reasons why they couldn't and he knew he should stop... but then she bit down hard on his lip and he felt his blood run hot like fever and her hands were under his clothes all over his skin and her hips were tormenting him.

Then they were undressing each other and before he knew what he was doing he was on top of her and she was bare-chested; her body begging to be touched.

His mouth fell on hers and he couldn't remember how he got there like he'd got drunk off her and blacked out. Her body was trembling and he felt every tremor, her nipples brushing against his chest. He worried all her shaking would wake him up from his dreaming because he must've fallen asleep here like he had last night… This wasn't really happening.

But then he heard her say, "Draco, touch me." And he raised his eyes to meet hers, to wake up, because Hermione couldn't possibly be saying these things to him. Not now, when it had become too dangerous to even think of doing this.

But then she repeated it a second time and the words echoed in his mind sounding like fucking music.

"Where?" he breathed.

Her cheeks flushed as she took his hand from her breast and put it high on her thigh. His eyes roamed over her half-naked form as he hitched her skirt up high around her waist. His fingers traced her white knickers, the cotton stretched over her sex. She was wet and his cock twitched with the knowledge of it.

Hermione whimpered, biting her lip and he thought that every time she did, she should have house points deducted. She was a dirty little Gryffindor.

He slid his hand underneath the material and stroked her once over the clit. She whimpered again and the sound made Draco greedy for more. Without a word, he slid his finger into her opening. She let out a gasp, her fingers digging into him and he knew he should've asked, or said something but it was happening again. That inability to stop and he had to silence the voice that told him to bind her hands again. Her walls were tight and he imagined them gripping his cock, holding him in her. He began moving in and out gently.

She whined and Draco couldn't tell if it was in pain or pleasure. He asked if it was okay and she nodded, her eyes glazing over.

Hermione hummed against his skin. "Just like that," she moaned pulling him back to her mouth and kissing him in a frenzy. He moved his thumb against her clit. She moaned and it echoed all the way down to his groin. He did it again a little harder and she gasped, biting down hard on his bottom lip. It stung and it was strange how much she seemed to like drawing blood.

He slowly devoured her neck and soon learned that the gentler he was, the more impatient she became. He kissed a slow path to her chest and caught her nipple in his mouth. She moaned, holding his head to her breast and he could feel the slightest tightening around his finger.

"God… Draco," her head lolled back. The sounds falling from her parted lips weren't the delicate cries he'd imagined. They were unrestrained, pleading and desperate. He could come just listening to them… he could come just looking at her.

Would she mind if he did that, would she let him? He'd come on her breasts, or just in the slight valley between them… or below her stomach… maybe in her—

 _Fuck._

He couldn't bear it any longer. His entire body was in a nervous state of excitement.

He slipped out of her and rose to his knees.

"No," she whined. "Don't stop."

But he had to, just for a moment.

She sat up on her elbows, her chest rising and falling, eagerly waiting for him to return to touching her.

His fingers toyed with the hem of his sweatpants. Clenching his jaw, he slowly pushed them down over his erection and onto the floor.

Hermione's gaze dropped to his hard length and he felt his cheeks burn as she appraised him. He was relieved when she finally raised her eyes back to his, chewing her lips furiously.

He wrapped his hand around his cock and began stroking at an excruciatingly slow pace. Her eyes squeezed shut as if she wasn't meant to see.

"No," he said and he didn't know where the words came from. "I want you to watch."

She slowly lifted her gaze back to him and he was so grateful to her; as if her beautiful brown eyes on him was a fucking gift.

It's what he wanted; to have them dilate and blacken, to have her lick her lips and leave a thin wet film. To just have her stare at him, to have each other burned into memory. He studied her, her hair wild, her chest heaving, her skirt pushed up and her knickers damp.

He groaned.

She rubbed her legs together, ashamed and aroused.

He wanted her to feel what he was feeling.

Using his free hand, he teased her clit. Instinctively her legs stretched wider and he pressed a little harder over her knickers. She fell back, her hips gyrating against his hand, moaning, and he wondered how close she'd been when he stopped earlier. Maybe, maybe they could come together, but… it was so difficult...so difficult to concentrate.

Whimpering in frustration she gently moved his hand away.

He watched as she slipped her own underneath the cotton fabric.

And Draco couldn't believe that he had Gryffindor's little princess touching herself beneath him, her eyes locked on his, her lips parted and singing.

His free hand explored her body. He had to keep touching her to make sure she was real.

Hermione's back arched up into his palms as he cupped her breast.

He clenched his teeth, trying to last longer but even as he slowed down he could feel himself on the edge of climax.

Oh Merlin, did he need to ask her if he could finish on her, or was it a given that he would?

His mind was spiraling, he couldn't think. He was so close… he was—

"Fuck," he choked. "I'm going to come."

She never answered because just then her back arched again and she was moaning. Her head thrown back and her neck stretched long.

A few more strokes and his entire body shuddered as he followed, spilling white semen all over her. He growled as the last of him emptied out on her stomach and skirt, and he thought he'd faint from the intensity of his orgasm.

He could barely hold himself up and he half collapsed onto her.

They were both panting, coming down from the euphoric lust-induced haze they'd been under.

A minute later when their heavy breathing subsided, he raised his head, his eyes sweeping over her.

Hers were half-closed and he wished they could both stay here tonight. He memorized her; her hair in disarray, her cheeks flush, her body half covered in a film of sweat and cum. There was something he loved about seeing her in this disheveled, tainted state, ruined to the point of having no other wizard ever desiring to touch her.

And he'd begun to do that hadn't he— taint her? There were traces of him everywhere.

He picked up his wand from the table and cast a cleaning charm on them.

It was a little awkward. There were no words to describe what they'd just done except he knew it had felt absolutely dirty. Yet he didn't care… in fact, he found he wanted to do it again, and again, the same despicable voice urging him like it had the last time.

She began to sit up and redress so he did the same, which was unfortunate. There was no look more flattering on her than when she was naked. But then he noticed that she wasn't just redressing, she was closing herself off, running away just like she had the last time.

He grabbed her wrists as they were shakily trying to button her shirt.

"Stop it," he ordered. "You're not going to do this again."

Hermione's eyes were downcast avoiding his gaze and it fucking hurt that she couldn't look at him.

"What?" he challenged, becoming angry.

She yanked her hands out of his grip without a word and went back to dressing.

"Talk to me," he commanded.

Without looking at him she said in a quiet voice. "I didn't mean for it to go that far."

"Yes you did—" She was shaking her head furiously from side to side denying it. "—You knew exactly what you were doing and you loved every fucking minute of it."

Her eyes were swelling with tears and he suddenly grew frightened because he didn't understand why she was doing this, why she was trying to keep up the pretense. He cupped her face willing her to look up at him.

"Why are you pretending you weren't there?" asked Draco.

Hermione stared at him, through damp eyelashes.

"I don't know what came over me, I've never done that before," she whispered and then in her fumbling she tore a button and all hell broke loose. "Look at what you've done Draco Malfoy," she said shoving him. "You've ruined everything! I hope you're happy now!"

"Ecstatic!" he screamed back.

Throwing her hands in the air she was ranting about all the mean things he'd done to her, to Potter, to Weasley, to Hagrid, hell, to Longbottom, then she was saying he was loathsome, spoilt and vile and pointed out that he'd called her nothing but a Mudblood for the last five years and before he could stop himself it just slipped out.

"At least I was right to call you filthy."

Her mouth fell open as her face went brick red with anger.

"And how does it feel to lower yourself to touching a _filthy Mudblood_?" she spat back at him.

"Fucking good," he rasped, looking her up and down. "I've never come so hard." Then for good measure, he fisted her hair and kissed her, effectively shutting her up. She moaned into his mouth, wrapping her hands around his neck as his tongue swept over hers.

They broke apart panting, their foreheads touching.

"What are we doing?" she asked breathlessly.

"I don't know," he said rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. "Do you want to keep doing it?"

"God, yes."

His skin was on fire. She'd just confirmed what he'd known the moment he watched her come undone underneath him; that they'd keep doing this, over and over and over again until it killed them.

He was a dead man anyway, but he could still hide her. As long as no one knew, she'd be safe.

"Hermione…" he said, knowing full well this wasn't something any girl wanted to hear, especially after what they'd just done, but she needed to know. "No one can know. No one."

He braced himself.

But she just sighed, her eyes closing.

"I know… but, it's not forever, right?"

He pursed his lips because he wasn't entirely sure he had forever, or a year, or a month, or maybe he did have forever, in Azkaban.

Without voicing the truth, he said, "Come on, we better head back to the dormitories."

Later that night, when he was alone in his bed, he wished they could've stayed in that little room forever.

* * *

A/N: I'm looking for a beta-reader. Let me know if anyone is interested. Just to sort of leaf through for grammar/spelling mistakes/glaring errors. Thanks, hope everyone is having a great day x


	28. Rules & Regulations

Hermione had been honest when she'd told him she hadn't meant for it to go that far. Her body was dangerous when it was near his; it felt strange and new, it wouldn't listen to her instruction. She'd known magic, had felt it in her far before her Hogwarts letter had ever arrived, but this was altogether different.

This was better... but addictive.

Maybe they'd been put under a spell, or a potion with the similar effects of Amortentia, except there was something else— a sharp awareness of each other and who they both were. They couldn't escape it, even in lust. It was Draco's fingers moving inside of her, his breath on her neck, his tongue on her nipple and she didn't want it to be anyone else's. She was sure he'd felt it too, made his recognition of her clear by the way he touched her and whispered her name. And they hadn't been able to stop, as if to do so would rip something away from the other.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she ran a hand down her side, studying the curve of her waist, tracing the soft mounds of her breasts. She was surprised that she'd only noticed these changes when he'd started to touch her, bringing attention to every detail.

The weekend had gone by without hearing from him. She was reluctant to be the first one to message, not after practically throwing herself at him.

God, if anyone knew. She couldn't help the burning shame she felt. It was bad enough to have done those things with any boy but to have done it with Draco Malfoy, of all wizards... this was so much worse than the first time because she'd encouraged it, asked for it without knowing what she was asking for.

Monday came and she was dreading the week. They saw each other in class and it was strange to pretend nothing existed between them. And it infuriated her to no end when, at lunch, Tracey Davis sat opposite him and they were chatting happily as if her outburst last Friday at dinner had never happened. There was something ugly gurgling at the pit of Hermione's stomach watching and waiting with clenched fists for the Slytherin girl to touch him, almost daring her to.

But they just sat there speaking.

"Earth to Hermione," said Harry.

Her eyes snapped to his.

"What?"

"You were daydreaming again. You've been doing it a lot lately."

"Have I?" she asked innocently. "Sorry."

Ron joked that her mind was probably on something like the horological properties of a time-turner or something equally brilliant. Hermione was about to chastise him when she realized it had been blatant flattery. She gave him a half-smile a little surprised that he knew anything about horology let alone the Muggle word. Then again she'd always known Ron was smart despite acting daft most of the time. That's why she'd felt the need to avoid his gaze these days. Because she thought he'd be able to sense it before Harry did. Because maybe when you did those kinds of things with another person, it left a mark on you that other people could see.

Maybe she had Draco Malfoy written all over her.

Without meaning to she found herself sneaking glances of him throughout the day, praying she was being as discreet as she believed herself to be. It was in Transfiguration class that he'd caught her. She peered up at him beneath her lashes and met his eyes; he'd been waiting for her to look at him.

He smiled. Not a smirk, not a sneer—a roguish smile. She blushed, biting her lip from smiling back. He looked down at his parchment, still smiling. She waited and sure enough he raised his eyes again. His smile was turning into a grin. He looked to McGonagall, his expression suddenly serious. And then she remembered where she was— in Transfiguration class surrounded by her friends. Hermione fought the impulse to go to him, to sit close enough so she could breathe his cologne in. She felt pressed to ask why he hadn't messaged her. Didn't he miss her? What did he do on the weekend? Did Tracey still think there was something between them? Was it necessary for him to speak to the opposite gender? Could they go somewhere to kiss?

The coin warmed on her skin.

She almost jumped and it was a miracle she hadn't squealed in excitement.

He wanted to meet her tomorrow night.

Without a moment's hesitation, she replied. _Okay._

Leaving class her mood fell. A crushing disappointment weighed her. She was worse than bloody Brown. Running after Draco Malfoy as soon as he yelled fetch. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to be a clingy, whiny needy girlfriend like Lavender was with Ron.

 _Girlfriend_.

The word felt heavy.

She'd never been anyone's girlfriend before. Was that what she even was? What were they exactly?

Hermione internally groaned chewing on her lip. No, this just wouldn't do. She couldn't lose herself. All she needed was a plan, a systematic way to ensure her sanity.

That evening she retired to the library and devised it.

* * *

The wind swept across the Quidditch grounds and sent a shiver down Draco's back. It felt like years since he'd stepped onto it with his broom. Urquhart, was all too happy to hear that Draco was going to take up his position of Seeker again. The Slytherin Captain had been understandably miffed with him, but when it came down to it, there wasn't anyone to replace him. The team had lost badly to the Gryffindor's and if they had any chance of winning the Quidditch Cup they'd have to beat Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw by a landslide.

The drills were physically exerting and he felt like smacking himself for allowing his training to slip. He made a resolute decision to begin the routine he had practiced during summer every day either in the early morning or evening. This could very well be the last year he spent at Hogwarts, or his last year period. He'd make every moment count.

Urquhart was rounding up the team at the end of practice to give them what he called his notes. They were doled out like what Draco's mother used to refer to his father's advice— acid pops. Harsh criticism peppered with sweet encouragement and compliments. From what Draco had seen though, other than for his own poor physical form, the team was looking strong. Even Vaisey seemed to have recovered well from his injury and was ironically outdoing himself. It said a lot about a person when you got a bludger to the head and seemed to come out of it for the better.

"Draco."

It was his turn and he braced himself for an onslaught of negative feedback.

"Stay on the field and run a couple more drills. It's good to have you back."

Relieved that he wouldn't be reprimanded, he nodded in agreement knowing that he most definitely needed the extra practice. More than feeling guilty for having let his team down, there was the underlying disappointment he had in himself. Potter was captain of the Gryffindor team and he'd yet to beat the tosser to the snitch. After an additional thirty minutes of extra flying time, Draco placed his feet on the uncut grass. He was in the midst of removing his arm guards when he saw the Gryffindor team walking up to the pitch.

Brilliant.

Potter was at the head glaring, Weasley striding beside him.

The two sped up marching toward him, the rest of the team dawdling behind.

"The pitch is reserved for the Gryffindor team," said Potter in a right tizzy. Ginny Weasley was suddenly behind them, a little breathless from having run over.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Weasley nodded toward him as if Draco's mere presence answered everything. He noticed how she stepped closer to Potter with a steely glare. He caught the doe-eyed look he gave her and wondered how Weasley didn't see it.

He'd never felt so dumb. What had ever made him think that Potter was after Hermione?

"I'm leaving," he said in a curt tone.

He began to walk past them looking straight ahead when Potter called out to him. "Thought you were ill Malfoy."

And he didn't know why he peered back over his shoulder and bothered to answer. "Feeling much better now."

The wind was beginning to howl and the day suddenly felt strange.

His hatred of Potter had always felt natural but he no longer had the urge to pick a fight with him. It had become clear over the last months that his father's imprisonment had begun the moment he took the Dark Mark, many, many years ago and for the first time he understood how truly shite it must be to be 'famous Harry Potter'. After all, Draco had only recently gotten a taste of what it was like to have the Dark Lord ruin him and his family while he'd been ruining Potter's since his birth.

Much later Draco found himself in the library. Sick of looking like an idiot, he was determined not to receive another detention. By the time he finished, it was late and all he wanted to do was get to the dungeons and collapse on his bed.

The common room was empty when he entered, all except for Tracey and a few fourth years. It was obvious she'd been waiting for him and he was unwilling to engage with her. He was in no mood to be shouted at again. Normally he'd never stand for such unseemly behavior but he'd felt so guilty for leading her on. Part of him, hadn't meant to, had truly believed that he was doing the right thing and then there was the other part that subconsciously knew it was all a charade; an act, for Theo, for Hermione and for himself.

Reluctantly he approached her, they were in the same house and it was unavoidable.

She stood slowly.

"Look, I'm really sorry," she said first. "I don't react well when I don't get what I want… the only disadvantage of being a spoilt brat."

He couldn't help but snigger.

She stepped into him and he was instantly aware of how close she was.

Draco cleared his throat.

"Are you sure this isn't what you want?" she asked softly.

He stepped back.

It had nothing to do with what he wanted. Everything now was a matter of necessity.

She was necessary.

Getting rid of the Dark Lord was necessary.

Protecting his mother was necessary.

"Tracey—"

"Don't. I already know what you're going to say." She smiled sadly at him. "I'm just too fabulous for you."

He put his hands in his pockets and looked sheepishly at his feet.

She left.

His father's words echoed in his memory.

 _Sometimes Draco, you have to be cruel to be kind._

* * *

He'd woken the next morning and desperately wanted to see Hermione. He'd returned to the dungeons after his early morning training and showered. The opportunity to be alone never presented itself and he thought longingly to the coin sitting in his trunk. Then when he thought he might finally be able to get a moment to himself Blaise had been adamant that they sneak off to Hogsmeade to help him pick out a gift for Pansy.

When Theo had asked what the occasion was Blaise had merely shrugged.

"Because I feel like it," he'd said.

Draco hadn't laughed because he'd done much stupider things; like giving a girl an expensive love bracelet and then asking for it back. The irony wasn't lost on him. There he was, helping one of his good friends choose something for his ex-girlfriend while he was secretly dying to see Hermione Granger, his sworn Mudblood enemy.

His life was all kinds of fucked.

But it was okay because he'd get to see her tomorrow in class.

Eventually, Blaise settled on buying Pansy earrings. They were suspiciously expensive to be a gift one just bought on a whim, but Draco agreed all the same that she'd love them. Nott agreed too.

The next day was not the sweet relief he thought it'd be. It was torture. There she was, close and untouchable. He wasn't even able to look at her for too long without worrying that someone would notice his wandering gaze.

Then at lunch, Tracey had sat opposite him and he was relieved to find that she wasn't upset over things. There was a part of him that believed that what had really irritated her was the thought that he was still hung up over Pansy. The two were friends but Draco had always observed the competitive edge that nurtured their friendship. He was in the middle of telling her about the topic he'd chosen for his Herbology report when he felt the strange sensation of being watched. He took a quick glimpse over at the Gryffindor table and saw Hermione glaring daggers at Tracey's back.

Draco swallowed nervously, wondering if he should've made it clear to her that he wasn't seeing Tracey anymore. He excused himself and left the Great Hall.

He went to get the coin.

During Transfiguration he caught her staring at him. His hands moved to the coin and he wrote her a message under the desk while the class's attention was on Professor McGonagall.

He wanted to see her tonight but knew she had Prefect duties.

 _Tomorrow ROR 2100_

A reply appeared instantly and he already felt a little lighter.

He had to physically stop himself from smiling.

Merlin, he was worse than Zabini.

Later that evening he went a little overboard with Theo and Blaise. Maybe it had to do with the fact that things were going well for everyone.

Theo and he were back on solid ground. Instead of apologizing to each other though, they'd gone on as if the incident had never happened.

By nine o'clock, the three founding members of the Chess club were fairly sloshed and by ten, Theo had fallen asleep across the large sofa, his mouth slightly parted revealing his inebriation.

Zabini and he were miraculously still conscious on the other side of the common room sitting in armchairs by the fire. Perhaps it had less to do with miracles and more to do with the fact that Theo had lost badly to a tournament of Black Witch, where the loser had to drink each time he lost a round.

"How's your father?" asked Blaise.

Draco gave him a listless shrug. "As well as can be expected."

"Do you write him at all?"

He shook his head. He hadn't spoken to his father since the last time he'd visited him in Azkaban at his mother's insistence.

Blaise was smiling into his glass.

"What?" snapped Draco.

"When you hold a grudge, you really hold a grudge," he slurred.

The languid tranquil feeling that had set in Draco's bones immediately vanished and he was instantly on guard. Too often he forgot how sly Zabini could be.

"Don't know what you're on about," he mumbled.

"You're still pissed at him for putting your precious little princess in danger."

Draco opened his mouth to deny everything but was overcome with a wave of exhaustion. How many times had he denied his feelings for her, to others and to himself? Couldn't he just once acknowledge that they were there?

"Father didn't do anything," he said softly. "Dolohov hurt Granger."

Blaise's eyebrows jerked up, clearly surprised by his admission. He looked down into his drink as if it would make sense of things.

"But that's not the way you see it," he said after a while.

Draco glanced at Theo, who was still unconscious on the couch, worried that he would suddenly rouse and want to put his two cents in. But the bloke was out cold.

"I won't lie," said Blaise scratching his jaw looking thoughtful. "When you were bragging on the train ride to Hogwarts, telling everyone about your _service_ to the Dark Lord, well I thought, what a bloody hypocrite."

Draco drained the glass of firewhiskey. He didn't want to talk about this, he knew all of this already, and he didn't need the great Blaise Zabini to tell him anything.

"Thought I'd give you a bit of grief, that's why I made the blood-traitor comment, I mean... course I think Weasley's hot, she's like a ten—don't tell Pansy I said that—but yeah, just wanted to rub it in your face a little. Guess it was a bit of a low blow but your head was on Pansy's lap at the time, so…"

Then he waved it off and began to pour himself another glass as if the conversation was taking a toll on him rather than on Draco.

"You're not. You're not a blood traitor—well no, you are— but I don't really care. I don't think less of you for it. Do whatever you like. I certainly do."

Only then did it dawn on Draco that this entire evening had been an elaborate plan.

"Merlin Zabini, is this why you suggested a drinking game, to get me good and drunk just so you could bring up Granger?"

"No... well, yes, only a little... Theo has no tact for these sort of things."

"You're a first-class prick."

"No need to get all shirty. After all, I _am_ your best friend. If you can't talk to me then—"

"Theo's my best friend."

"Dragonshit! Theo's a prat. Remember when he tried to get you to eat those Doxy eggs?"

Draco hiccuped.

"That was you."

Blaise frowned in thought. "Oh yeah." Then it turned into a lopsided smile and he sniggered, "You almost did it too you wanker!" They looked at each other and burst out laughing as Draco remembered how close he'd been to putting those disgusting things in his mouth.

While he was catching his breath Blaise said in a quiet tone, "Seriously though, I think you should write to him. He's your father."

Draco sighed. Blaise wasn't allowing him to run away from this.

"And say what?" he whispered, almost to himself. "I don't have anything to tell him, at least nothing he'd want to hear."

There was an awkward pause.

"How do you know?" Draco suddenly asked unable to hold his tongue. "About her."

"I was at the Quidditch World Cup too Draco," he said furrowing his eyebrows. "I saw you trailing her during the Death Eater riot."

Draco heard a humorless laugh leave him. "Brightest witch of her age, you'd think she'd have enough sense to realize she was in danger… stupid fucking girl."

Another awkward pause followed.

"I don't know what's wrong with me."

"No, I get it," said Blaise. "Granger's gorgeous… she's got these…" His words died on his lips as Draco's eyes narrowed into threatening slits.

He leaned forward and tilted his head. "She's got what Zabini?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "I'm sloshed, dunno what I'm saying."

Draco clenched his jaw.

"So," he drawled after a minute trying to cut the tension. "You and the Weasley girl…"

Blaise picked up a cushion and threw it at Draco, making him spill his drink everywhere. He laughed and continued to taunt his friend about his secret affair during fifth year with the redhead. The dark skinned boy cracked a smile when Draco inadvertently complimented her ability to cast a good Bat-bogey hex and then it was Zabini's turn to laugh.

"Want to know something?" said Blaise scanning the room.

He nodded greedily in return.

"Cast a Mulfitto, a Mufflato, fuck, cast a silencing charm."

Draco frowned but did as he was told.

Blaise took a deep breath. "When you were in the hospital wing, I thought Pansy was still hung-up on you… I was real cut up and I did something bad… I kissed Gin."

Draco's mouth fell open. "You didn't." He watched as his friend drained his sixth glass of firewhiskey and it dawned on him why he'd gone out and bought her those earrings.

"How could you do that to Pansy?" Draco asked angrily.

Suddenly Blaise's expression turned. "Fuck you Malfoy," he spat pointing a finger at him. "Between the two of us who's hurt her the most?"

"I never cheated," he retorted.

"You did," said Blaise starting to count with his fingers. "Every time you looked at Granger across the Great Hall, every time you picked a fight with Potter, every time you insulted Weasley, the Yule Ball— and let's not forget the shit you've done to Granger herself. She'll never let you have her—"

"FINE!" he said bounding from the armchair. "Since we're on the subject of who's more of an arse, let's talk about what happened at Daphne's fifteenth birthday party."

Draco watched triumphantly as Blaise's face fell. He couldn't believe how riled up he was. It was probably because he'd kept it bottled away for so long. When he'd seen them, he'd not been as hurt as he thought he'd be, so he'd just let it go without confronting them— till that night after the Yule Ball when Pansy was giving him grief about being jealous of Krum. He'd threatened her; he'd told her if she brought up Hermione one more time, he'd leave her for snogging one of his closest friends and tell everyone what a cheating slag she was. It shut her right up and seemed to be having the same effect on Blaise. He was as quiet as a door mouse.

"Didn't think I knew about that, did you?"

"No, I didn't," he mumbled. "I'm sorry. I felt awful 'bout it afterward."

Draco huffed. "Bet you fucking did."

"Who told you—was it Nott?"

"Saw it with my own eyes," he said. "Theo doesn't know a thing."

Blaise looked dazed. "Why didn't you say anything?" he asked.

 _Because I didn't care enough to…_

"Dunno," he lied, suddenly feeling deflated.

"Mate—"

"Look, it's in the past, it doesn't matter. Let's call it a night, get Theo to bed."

Blaise nodded in agreement. His body swaying as he stood.

They levitated their unconscious friend to his bed. Poor fellow would need it for his impending hangover. Draco realized he wasn't going to fair better either because as soon as he lied down he felt the world spin before falling into a deep comatose state.

* * *

Draco opened his eyes. His mouth was dry and he felt like a bunch of centaurs had trampled his head. Yesterday was a little blurry but despite his best efforts, he could still remember bits and pieces of the conversation he'd had with Blaise. He'd said too much, _far too much_. He'd have to _oblivate_ him… unless… Blaise had drunk a lot too, much more than Draco. Maybe the alcohol had done his job for him. Entering the common room his hung-over friend was already there, sitting down hunched over while Pansy was gently rubbing his back.

He let out a miserable groan.

"Honestly Draco!" admonished Pansy. "You shouldn't have let him drink that much. No more firewhiskey for you boys." He was taken aback. Well, this was new, Pansy had never told him off for their antics before. Zabini let out a small whimper and buried his head in her lap. She cooed and fussed over him, asking if he wanted more anti-nausea potion. Blaise grumbled something incoherent.

"Where's Theo?" she asked ignoring him. "We'll be late if we don't leave soon."

Draco explained how he'd tried getting Nott out of bed but had been threatened with bodily violence repeatedly. It was safer to leave him where he was.

Pansy tutted. "Serves you three right."

Blaise turned his head a little and pouted at her. "I feel like I've been Avada-ed."

She made a sickly sweet sound of affection and placed a kiss on his forehead. If Draco didn't leave he'd most definitely throw up.

The day went by at an agonizingly slow pace. He waited with patience he never knew he had for the clock to strike nine. He was surprised to find a message on his coin from Hermione letting him know she was already in the room, waiting. Moments later he was standing in front of the door to the room—apparently their room.

"How did you get in here?" he asked as the door shut behind him.

She shrugged casually. "I thought of you and it appeared to me."

Draco supposed that made sense.

Then he realized they were finally alone together. He wasn't sure how to act.

He watched as she fidgeted; her nervousness was infectious.

Hermione cleared her throat. "How was your weekend?"

"Good... I wanted to see you but I had so much homework to do and it was hard to shake off Nott and Zabini. Plus I told Urquhart I wanted to play the Quidditch games against Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw so I started training again. It's been exhausting."

She looked surprised. "And he just took you back?" she asked.

He nodded. "It's either me or Harper and frankly I'm better on a broom."

Hermione gave him a small smile. "I'm glad you're back on the team."

"Listen," he started awkwardly. 'This thing with Tracey... we're just friends."

She crossed her arms defensively. "I didn't say you weren't."

"I saw you at lunch," he sighed running a hand through his hair. "Nothing ever happened between us."

Quietly she murmured, "that's not what it looked like at the Three Broomsticks."

He glanced away from her accusing eyes.

"I was considering it at one point but—"

"It doesn't matter," she interrupted taking out two sheets of parchment from her pocket and beginning to unfold them.

"What is this?" he asked as she handed them to him. His eyes were tired and he skimmed everything.

 _Rules & Regulations_

Feeling the bile rising up his throat he repeated the question. "What is this?"

"Rules… and I've made a schedule," she added. "I mean, I can write in your Quidditch practice times and… I just thought, considering how crazy things have been, we could... take things slow."

Draco blinked, re-reading everything. He didn't have the patience to deal with this today; his head was still pounding from last night. Part of him wanted to tear it to pieces in front of her but it would be pointless to argue it out now. Pursing his lips he took what was essentially a timetable of when and where they could meet every week and looked it over. She'd cross-referenced each other's classes, study periods and Prefect duties to see which available times overlapped.

"So?" asked Hermione in a small voice. "What do you think?"

She was wringing her hands and he realized with incredulity that she was actually waiting for his approval.

"It's very thorough," he said tightly. "You've color-coded it and everything... impressive."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. What this really was all about was setting boundaries; restricting when he could see her, what they could do, how much they spoke each week. She had outlined, in meticulous detail, the rules and regulations of their relationship, or if rule four was anything to go by, their open relationship.

 _Either party can enter into relations with other persons without pre-approved consent from the other._

No. She really fucking couldn't enter into anything with anyone. Bloody Muggle-born witch. He'd kill her.

She was staring at him chewing her lip waiting for him to say more but he was speechless. He could only imagine that she still harbored feelings for Weasley and wanted an out if the opportunity ever presented itself.

Taking the parchment from his hand she looked it over.

"We can meet once a week," she surmised. "If time permits."

He hummed, as if in approval, but inside he was seething. No, this wouldn't work for him at all… and yet he knew Hermione well enough to know that he couldn't come right out and say it. He couldn't possibly tell her that she didn't belong to herself anymore, that she now belonged to him. She wouldn't have that.

Zabini's words from last night floated up from some drunken ether.

 _She'll never let you have her._

His stomached twisted.

There was the estate in Valencia. His mother was the only other living person who knew of its existence. She'd bought it with her own money and Draco had never questioned why she'd kept it a secret from his father but he was beginning to understand. Like father, she too, had contingency plans.

If he took Hermione, no one would think to look for them there, except his mother of course. Although if he disappeared his mother would be punished so he'd have to take her too—and that sounded awful. He'd just have two furious women on his hands, his father none-the-wiser in Azkaban and dementors hunting him down.

Couldn't he just keep her, here, in this room? He'd give her things, books, that muggle TV thing. It'd just be for a little while. Until it was safe... until she understood how things would be. If anything, she should've known better than to come to him, in the night, alone. It was her fault. She was cruel really, offering herself one day, forbidding it the next. He really ought to teach her a lesson...

If he could just get to her wand—

"Draco."

His eyes snapped to hers.

"Are you alright?" she asked, placing her hand on his arm.

"Fine."

She frowned. "What are you thinking?"

 _Don't lie_ … _don't lie._

He covered her small hand with his. They would be so easy to bind.

"Just thinking about contingency plans," he admitted.

She smiled shyly. "I already have that covered. If for some reason we can't see each other on Tuesday night, we can meet on Thursday instead."

"Brilliant… that's just brilliant."

Hermione was frowning again, her eyes on the schedule. She almost seemed sad and he was worried that she'd picked up on his sarcasm. And sarcasm wasn't a lie, was it? Misleading perhaps, but surely not a lie.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," she said quickly. "It's… it's a good plan."

He hummed again.

When the time was right, he'd clarify the way things would be with them.

Until then he'd play along.


	29. Pruning

After Draco had agreed to the rules and regulations of their _interactions—_ she didn't know what else to call what they were doing—Hermione had sat down and picked up a book from the clutter on the table. When he hadn't moved, she'd grabbed another from the pile and offered it to him.

Raising an eyebrow she asked, "You still want to know what happened to Regulus Black, right?"

He'd taken it and sat down on the other end of the sofa.

Every now and then she'd peak at him just to check he was still there, because being in this little secret room working together. It was all too surreal.

The fourth time she did it he smiled at her, the same way he had in Transfiguration, except now he looked a little tired around the eyes. She'd returned it shyly and then returned to the book. Over an hour had passed and the words were beginning to blur. She didn't think there'd be any use reading over the history of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families but thought it couldn't hurt to try. After all, there weren't any books written specifically about Regulus Black or the Black family, at least not one she could find in the Hogwarts library. In fact, Hermione could barely find any literature on the original wizarding families—perhaps an intentional exclusion of books that could be considered Pureblood propaganda or a degree of anonymity taken by the families themselves. The book she was currently reading, she then assumed, was Draco's.

Hermione had just reached the passage about the Flint family when suddenly Draco let out a groan of irritation, tossing his book onto the table. Throwing his head back he muttered how completely pointless this all was. She agreed but didn't want to voice how hopeless it seemed trying to unravel a mystery no one else before them had. Her eyes were growing tired but she forced herself to keep reading. They couldn't just give up.

His hand fell over the pages.

"Enough."

She wanted to protest but surrendered, closing the book on her lap. He gently took her hand, holding it in between his like a prayer and brought it to his lips. Hermione's breath hitched. Their eyes locked. It was so difficult to be this close and have the rules keeping them apart. Rules, she'd written and forced on herself.

 _1._ _Each party must prioritize the personal obligations written on their schedules i.e. class, prefect duties, and other miscellaneous activities._

 _2._ _Communication will be limited to twice a week via the Protean Charm, letters, notes and any other means of contact._

 _3._ _Physical contact will not go beyond hugging, handholding or kissing._

4\. _Either party can enter into relations with other persons without pre-approved consent from the other._

 _5._ _The rules and regulations may be revised and/or amended every five weeks._

 _Note that the violation of these rules, once agreed upon, will terminate any relations between the two parties, effective immediately._

Writing such things had been easy, until he agreed to all of them, including rule four. She hadn't been expecting that, not after his outburst over kissing Cormac. She wondered if she'd subconsciously included it as a means of ensuring that he wouldn't agree and then she could console herself by saying that at least she'd tried. Hermione was berating herself for being so quick to write the rules, for feeling she needed them and despising them so soon.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered stealing away her thoughts.

Hermione withdrew her hand, startled by the suddenness of his words. She couldn't possibly, and she was just about to tell him so when he quickly added, "there's no rule to say we can't sleep next to each other."

Her mind went over them.

He was right. She had never said, nor thought to specify anything about sharing a bed.

Whispering she asked, "Won't we get caught?"

The corner of Draco's lips tugged into a mischievous smirk. "Not if we're both back in our dorms by six."

Hermione wasn't fooled by that smirk. She understood how risky it'd be for them to stay and yet she found herself consenting. He smiled at her and then closed his eyes; his expression one of deep concentration. A few moments later the room began to shift and change, it elongated, stretching. A four-poster bed appeared with sheets the color of emeralds. Hermione clutched to the sofa, bowing her head, feeling a little strange, like she'd just gotten off a merry-go-round. Magic could sometimes be nauseating. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that she was going to bed with a Slytherin.

Raising her head, she glared accusingly at Draco.

He simply shrugged. "I'm not sleeping with you on the floor again."

She gave an undignified snort. "Fine, but no funny business _Mr. Malfoy_."

Draco's eyes flashed. "The Malfoy's aren't in the same industry as the Weasley's, _Miss Granger_ ," he replied quietly.

Hermione pursed her lips, confused but before she could think more of it he asked, "Aren't you going to get ready for bed?"

She looked down at her comfy pajamas. "I _am_ ready for bed."

"No, you're not," he gave a tired sigh, reaching for the buttons on her nightshirt.

She flinched from him. "What do you think you're doing?"

And there it was; that look, the one that sometimes scared her.

"There's no rule to say I can't see you naked."

Her eyes widened. "You want me to sleep next to you, _naked_?"

Draco laughed softly, looking genuinely amused. "Most definitely not—now stay still."

Her lips parted to protest but nothing came out. An eternity passed as she watched him unbutton her shirt with calm calculation. She swallowed down her heart that threatened to beat out of her chest. His knuckles grazed against her skin and she felt her body shudder. Her nipples hardened as they came into contact with the cold air and she covered them quickly with her arms. Finally, he tugged her bottoms down and helped her step out of them. Standing there before him with only her knickers was the most unnerving experience. She felt powerless. As he stood drawing tall he removed his jumper handing it to her.

"There's no fire," he explained. "It'll keep you warmer than what you're wearing."

But Hermione barely heard the words, her attention lost in the shallow cuts of his bare chest, lost to the fact that despite the rules he felt entitled to undress her. Swallowing nervously she took it and slipped it on.

It was easier to look at him when she was clothed again.

"It's so soft," she smiled, enjoying the feel of it on her skin.

Draco's eyes grew dark as they traveled down her half-naked form. "Now you're ready," he whispered placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.

Without saying a word Hermione fell onto the bed, burying half her face into the pillow. The bed itself might have looked like Draco's but the sheets were crisp and new, un-slept in and odorless. She had been anticipating his scent. Her heart was racing as she watched Draco climb in next to her. Hermione knew she'd written the rules in order to avoid certain physical things from taking place but her mind had forgotten the intimacy of merely lying next to him and in a way, wasn't this so much worse?

Trying to distract herself from the gravity of her mistake she said, "tell me something."

"Like what?" he asked.

Hermione licked her lips. "A secret."

Draco scoffed. "I'm all out of confessions, thank you."

"Please…"

He was quiet for so long that she thought she'd crossed a line.

"Promise not to tell anyone?"

"Pinky promise," she smiled holding out her little finger.

He frowned at the gesture.

"It's a Muggle thing."

His frown grew even more sullen.

"Is this their version of the Unbreakable Vow?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes," she teased. "Except if you break the promise, you don't die."

"Then how do I know you'll keep it?"

"Faith..."

Asking him to stick out his pinky, she vowed she wouldn't tell a soul. He rolled his eyes but acquiesced. She felt a shiver of something course through her when he interlaced his little finger with hers. She bit her lip.

"The first time I used magic," he began. "I almost died."

Hermione startled.

"It's funnier than it sounds," said Draco as he casually laid his wrist over his eyes. "I can't remember how old I was, maybe five or six. There used to be a lake on our estate—"

"Of course there was," she said in a sarcastic tone.

"With ducks," he added, ignoring her. "I used to visit them. Mother claims that I'd even named them all—can't remember, maybe she exaggerates that part—anyway I… I _apparated_ into the middle of it and almost drowned."

Hermione was torn between awe and sympathy. "I wanted to swim with the ducks," he laughed, a little embarrassed.

"How did you get out?" she asked mesmerized.

Draco was quiet for a long time and she thought he might have fallen asleep when his eyes fluttered open.

"Father jumped in…" he said softly, picking up his wand and extinguishing the lights. "It's all forest now."

She rolled onto her back and stared into the darkness unable to bring herself to say anything because there was no space for Lucius Malfoy between them on this bed.

And the darkness, it was suddenly stifling. It was pitch black and cold. Unlike Gryffindor Tower, the room had no natural light and it was strange to be in the complete dark, unable to see Draco but to feel the heat of him. Hermione searched for his hand.

"It's so dark," she breathed, surprised at how frightened she sounded. Suddenly there were tiny lights above her, so dim she thought she was imagining them, till they grew brighter, like stars coming out to shine in a night sky. Hermione turned to Draco as he brushed his thumb over her hand reassuringly. It was the second time he'd managed to render her speechless with how delicate his magic was.

After some time she gathered enough courage to ask.

"Your father?" she gulped, looking pointedly at the lights.

Hermione turned her face in time to see him smile warmly. "My mother," he corrected.

Then his smile began to fade. "She knows," he whispered watching the stars wink at him. Rolling onto her side she asked him what his mother knew. Draco said nothing and after a moment simply looked at her with a forlorn expression.

And it said everything.

He couldn't have both worlds, which meant that when the dust settled eventually he'd choose his family. The thought was crushing. She hadn't cared when his father had looked upon her with disdain, or when his mother had viciously insulted her by calling her scum but now, confronting what it meant, left her utterly distraught.

"She hates me," she gasped a quiet sob. And she didn't know where it had come from.

Hermione should've written no crying as a rule because she was so embarrassed. He moved closer to her on the bed telling her it didn't matter, that nothing else mattered and it sounded like the very thing a boy told a girl to get her to quiet down instead of the truth.

"Doesn't it?" she sniffed. It meant that all this was temporary, they were his family, his childhood, people he still belonged to, who loved him and wanted certain things for him, wanted him to be a certain way, a way without her. But then he said something more devastating than his coerced confession of love.

"It's too late for other choices Hermione, this can't be undone."

The words washed over her and she was able to breathe again. Then she felt his fingers on her skin, tracing patterns gently up and down the length of her arm. She wiped her face with the sleeve of his shirt and was grateful that he didn't care. His eyes fluttered closed. She could feel it again, the pull, no longer veiled in lust. It was bare and naked. She'd heard it in his voice, heard it in her own.

"Draco?"

He murmured sleepily, "mm?"

"Goodnight."

He pulled her in tighter and after a few minutes she could tell by his breathing he'd fallen into a deep sleep. Hermione, on the other hand, was much too afraid to, at the risk of waking up and having realized she'd fallen in love with Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Somewhere in the castle that same night, Luna Lovegood was making her way up to the Astronomy Tower. She smiled to see Theo already there, waiting for her. He'd approached her and apologized for not having been able to spend the evening with her at the Three Broomsticks. It had been a welcome surprise when he suggested they reschedule, especially since she felt comfortable with him like he was someone she'd known in another life. It might've been the numerous lengthy letters they'd sent each other, but speaking to him in person, she felt like they'd finally become friends. They studied together, walked the halls, shared secrets, shared stories and for once in her life she wondered if this was what it was like to have a best friend—a true best friend. Until last week, when without warning, he'd kissed her. She'd been in the middle of explaining the existence of the Crumpled-Horned Snorkack when he'd leaned in and so rudely interrupted her. Luna was about to ignore it and pick up from where she'd been cut off but then he was saying the most beautiful things to her and she'd decided that what he had to say took precedent over the elusive creature.

Theo jolted around almost as if she'd caught him by surprise.

"Hello," she smiled.

"You scared me. I was daydreaming."

Luna laughed finding it strange that she'd be something to be afraid of and wondered why they called it daydreaming when it could be done at night. If only she had her spectrespecs, she could search him for Bellitrouts. She was almost certain he had an infection. There had been something going on with him the last few days. The Ravenclaw girl gathered that it had nothing to do with the kiss or his words because this new behavior was quite recent.

"You've been acting unlike yourself the last few days… I think you might be infected by Bellitrouts."

She watched as Theo drew a deep breath. "I can't see you anymore," he exhaled.

"You can," she reassured him taking his hand and holding it to her cheek. "I'm right here."

Theo's hand felt cold against her skin; even colder still when he withdrew it. She guessed he'd been waiting at the Tower for a while.

He let out a heavy sigh. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

She frowned in confusion at the sharpness of his words. "But you said I was your _lune_. You said you could only sleep knowing I was lit brightly in the sky watching over you."

"I lied," he said simply as if everything would make sense to her with those two words. But all Luna really felt was muddled. Her thoughts were like a broken jigsaw puzzle and she couldn't see the picture just the pieces and none of them fit, so she asked the only question that she thought would give meaning to it.

"Why?"

Theo's eyes rested on hers. "Because I could."

Luna found she couldn't look at him anymore and her stare drifted to the sky. They'd come here almost several times to stargaze but tonight there was only the moon hanging in its huge expanse. Luna felt something wet her cheeks. There was only the wind and then her sniffle.

"You're making me very sad Theodore Nott."

He nodded slowly. "I got that from the crying Luna."

Her eyes never left the white light. It was a full moon. She didn't know how long she'd been staring at it, but it had been long enough for Theo to have left the Tower and for her not to have realized.

Luna decided she didn't quite like looking at the moon anymore, not when she'd been lied to about being like one.

* * *

A chilly breeze was blowing through the Malfoy Manor and Narcissa despised how the wind could turn into eerie howls. It didn't feel like her home. Of late, it had begun to feel as though she was a guest in a life she didn't lead and most of her days were spent walking around absent-mindedly keeping house. Elves were summoned to polish mirrors and silverware, furniture was dusted, marble cleaned, wood sanded and oiled, rooms emptied and reorganized, books dusted and reordered, old paintings sent to be restored. Their realtor was asked to value the Manor, their accountant asked to value the sum estate. Antique detailers, art gallery managers, jewelers, all were written to, because Narcissa Malfoy would do what she could in the absence of her husband and eventually her boys would return to her, first Draco, then Lucius. Then things could go back to the way it once were.

On those unfortunate days when the Dark Lord came by Bella's open invitation, he'd comment on how the Manor seemed to be coming to life. She wished desperately she could tell her sister that the less he visited, the better, but Bella was too far-gone. If her husband Rodolphus were here and not in Azkaban it'd be blatantly obvious to him who his wife's heart belonged to. So blinded by obsession was she, that Bella couldn't see that the Dark Lord was no wizard, no longer even a man.

Perhaps it was partially the reason for her sister's undying belief that he was somehow immortal.

Narcissa's house-elf Elma had spent the day helping her tend to the Malfoy gardens. Usually, she preferred not to soil herself with the elves labor but she found that the longer Lucius was absent, the more she gave her hands to tend to the gardenia bushes. It had been her wedding flower and the sight of them reminded her of that day— the second happiest of her life.

She was on her knees, in a very un-Malfoy-like fashion, pruning the bushes when she saw her sister approach her.

"The Dark Lord is not pleased Cissy."

When Narcissa finally spoke it was barely above a whisper. It wasn't unusual for Bella to press this matter, in fact, she was routinely questioning Narcissa on Draco's progress and it was becoming tiresome.

"I assure you, my son is not at Hogwarts twiddling his thumbs. Neither is Severus. If the Dark Lord could have a little more patience—"

"How dare you!" she spat. "It is of the highest honor!"

She regarded her sister steadily. "It is not honor but a death sentence, which the Dark Lord has bestowed upon my son."

"Only if you doubt his ability to carry out the deed! ... So do you?"

Drawing herself taller she looked at her sister with a proud arrogant expression only a parent could have for their child.

"Draco was six years old when he first _apparated_."

Bellatrix snarled. "I am perfectly aware of his magical capabilities. How soon you forget that it was I who helped him hone his natural talent for Occlumency!"

"Then you know I do not doubt him!"

"But I fear you do, my sweet, baby sister. If it were true, you wouldn't roam the Manor, already grieving."

The blood drained from Narcissa's already ashen face.

Bella feigned a pout.

"Poor, poor little baby—"

"Tut-tut Bella," came a low voice. "Surely you must have realized that your sister grieves the absence of her dear poor husband, the way, I'm sure, you grieve yours."

Narcissa watched as Bella turned on shaky legs. "My Lord! We did not know— it is not safe here— there was recently a raid by the Aurors."

"I know Bella... I know everything."

"Of course, my only concern was that—"

"Nothing is your concern unless I say so," he hissed quietly.

To her disgust, her sister cowered like a reprimanded child. She always turned into a simpering sycophant around him, and unfortunately, she could not deny that her husband did the same—although for very different reasons.

"Leave us Bella. Narcissa and I have important matters to discuss."

Bellatrix's face twisted in envy, glaring daggers at her youngest sister as she retreated back into the Manor. The Dark Lord caught the exchange and chuckled as if it were all a game.

Narcissa spoke first.

"May I offer you anything, a drink or—"

"No, that won't be necessary. Your hospitality as always is... _impeccable_. Tell me," said the Dark Lord sidling close to her, "of Draco's progress."

Narcissa's body stiffened as she heard a low hissing. Nagini, his large snake was slithering by her feet through the bushes, its long thick body draping itself between her beautiful white gardenias, coiling, lying in wait, ominously. She turned, her face to meet the Dark Lord's red eyes with a stony expression. There was something so malevolent in them that she understood with utter clarity that he would not stop at taking her home. He would take her son, he'd already taken her husband and now, perhaps purely to jostle Bella, he finally wanted to take her.

"He has yet to succeed in the task he was given," she answered honestly. "But he knows what must be done and will do it."

The Dark Lord smiled regretfully.

"Your little duckling better hurry along," he mused, his long spindly hands running down her arm. "Otherwise we'd have to find another way for you and your family to prove your loyalty."

Without blinking she reassured him of her loyalty, Lucius and Draco's included. "I will write to my son and _impress_ the importance of his success in his task."

He smiled, a wicked gleam in his eyes as they danced over her.

"Mother always knows best," he whispered.

She wished she could unhear the words.

Then he bent down and plucked one of her flowers, twirling it in his hand.

"Beautiful Narcissa… just lovely."

She thanked him graciously for admiring them.

Her eyes did not leave his until he and his snake disapparated. Even then she could not breathe and she stared at the empty space where he had moments ago been standing.

A short few minutes later, Narcissa returned to her bedroom and called for Elma to run her a hot bath. She undressed casting an _incendio_ on the robe he'd touched and then stepped into the large tub, submerging herself. She inhaled the calming aroma of lavender and luxuriated in the heat.

"Elma," she said quickly before the elf left. "Uproot the gardenia bush I just pruned."

Without so much as a question, the elf disapparated to do as she'd been told.

A few minutes later Narcissa lowered herself all the way into the water and held her breath. She held it till she could hold it no more and then waited. Just one more moment and she'd asphyxiate, just one more moment and she'd never again have to see his inhuman face.

She broke through the surface, gasping, choking, sobbing; praying that this afternoon would be the last private audience with the Dark Lord she'd have to endure.

That night Narcissa wrote a letter just as she said she would.

In fact, she wrote two.


	30. Lie to Me: Part I

Draco was still asleep, only just leaving a dream. He felt exposed. He'd lost something but couldn't remember what it was, only that it should be near him. With his eyes still closed, his body rolled over as his hand reached, searching the sheets for it. He sighed, glad to have found it. He loved it, all of it, the softness, the scent, the folds, and mounds of it. Even in his semi-conscious state, Draco recognized the warm body lying next to him as solely his. At some point in his deep sleep, he'd rolled away and he didn't like that. He nestled himself close, his nose buried in thick hair.

Draco inhaled deeply, the mild scent of gardenia.

 _Hermione._

His hand slid over her hips and rested on the soft flesh of her stomach.

He could hear their breathing.

She stirred a little; her back pressing against his.

They were perfect like this.

He stroked her sleeping form gently.

She was perfect.

Draco brought his lips to her neck to feel her pulse against them.

She sighed, a hum of contentment.

Even the sounds she made were perfect.

Then he remembered a list.

Vaguely recalled someone telling him that she'd never let him have her.

It made him want to ruin all that perfection; to ruin her till she was a limp body no other boy wanted.

Because this was his. All his.

He'd tear her open, wrench all her cries from her so that there'd be none left for the wizard after him.

There was too much of her and so little of him.

Surviving meant devouring her.

Draco's lips brushed the skin of her neck, gentle and light, preferring not to wake her.

She'd be angry at him, wouldn't allow it.

His open palm moved slowly under his jumper and she squirmed against him as his fingers grazed the underside of her breasts.

All of a sudden, a chill ran down his spine.

There were voices.

Noises coming from outside.

Draco jolted, sitting up, his eyes flying open.

It was dark and he stumbled to find his wand and cast a _lumos_.

He listened intently once again.

"Fuck!" he cursed, under his breath and lit the room.

Hermione was still fast asleep and he shook her.

"Wake up," he whispered.

She murmured something intelligible.

"Wake up!"

Her eyes fluttered open.

"Mm," she groaned rubbing her leg up and down his. "Let's sleep a little longer."

"We overslept! Everyone is up and we have Snape first period, so get your fucking arse up!"

Hermione jumped out of bed so fast she swayed a little, still dizzy with sleep. "Oh my God!" she cried.

Draco watched her stumble as she tried pulling on her pajamas.

He rolled his eyes getting out of bed slowly. Taking out his wand he transfigured her clothes.

"Didn't you set an alarm?" she scolded.

"I thought you would," he retorted. "I could barely keep my eyes open last night."

"God, Draco, what do we do?" she began in a panic. "Gin's probably realized I'm missing and asked Harry and Ron, what will I say, what will they think, oh God, I'll be branded the slag of Hogwarts—"

He grabbed her face with both hands and pressed a bruising kiss to her lips.

She sighed against his mouth as he released her.

"Just breathe, alright?"

Hermione nodded mutely in a daze.

"We have to wait till the very last minute while everyone is in the Great Hall for breakfast to leave. Go get your books and things from your dormitory and then go straight to class. If anyone asks, you got up early and went to the library to finish—I don't know—an essay or something. Don't hesitate or fidget when you lie, just sound casual. And for the love of Merlin, whatever you do, don't lick your lips."

She looked into his eyes and he could tell she was struggling to say something.

"Can't I say… can't I just tell the truth?"

He recoiled from her as if she'd slapped him. "Are you insane!"

Hermione's face twisted as if in pain. "I hate lying, Draco, and really, I've given it some thought. Eventually, it'll blow over and—"

"No!" he spat transfiguring robes for himself. "Just suck it up. I thought I'd made it clear to you that no one can know."

He caught a glimpse of her while changing and saw how his words had hurt her.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I… I shouldn't have snapped…"

She stood with slumped shoulders, staring at the floor, defeated. In a barely audible tone, she said, "I don't want to hide you."

Draco paused. When Hermione had agreed to keep it a secret, he'd just assumed she was happy because it meant she wouldn't have to tell her friends about them, but here she was, claiming that she wanted them to know, wanted everyone to know.

Sensing which direction her thoughts were taking her, he cupped her cheeks, gently coaxing her to look at him.

"We can't be together out there," he explained slowly. "It's not in the cards for us… because of who we both are... but believe me… every moment I'm not with you, I am waiting to be with you... I'm just... I'm waiting."

In one swift move, Hermione reached up and kissed him; an urgent desperate kiss.

He broke away a few moments later. The halls were quiet now and she had to go.

"Tell me what you'll say," he demanded. "Lie to me."

Without blinking, she answered in an even tone, "Oh, I was in the library. I realized late last night that I'd made a mistake on my Arithmancy homework so I got up early to fix it."

"Good," he swallowed, moving a strand of hair out of her face. "Good girl."

"What will you say?" she asked softly.

He gave her a small smile. "Don't worry about me." He could easily say he'd woken early to practice Quidditch. He did on most days so it wasn't a far-fetched lie.

Draco opened the door and peeped through. The corridor was empty so he led her through quickly.

Watching as she walked to the Tower he regretted instantly how he'd coached her. Casting a disillusionment charm on himself he vowed never to teach her anything again. He didn't want her to be anything like him.

* * *

The door to the Owlery was open as Draco made his way up the winding stairs. He paused making sure to soften his steps as he approached. There was no reason to be discreet but he rather liked the idea of creeping up on people and it came naturally to him to do so. Peering through the gap he was surprised to see Theo. He'd rarely ever known him to send or receive letters. His father was in Azkaban and Draco couldn't think of anyone else he'd be writing to so he figured it had to be a letter wooing some poor unsuspecting witch.

Smirking Draco asked, "Sending Lovegood another love letter, are you?"

Theo startled, a look of irritation passing over his face as he turned back around and sent the owl off quickly without saying a word.

His friend had been in a grumpy mood since yesterday and for a moment Draco wondered if he was still angry about what had transpired between them after he'd been released from the hospital wing. But he wasn't going to apologize to Theo, not after the tosser had provoked him. As far as he was concerned, they were both at fault and he'd just have to get over it.

"Or is it the Italian girl?" asked Draco trying to lighten the mood. "Whatever happened to her?"

Theo scoffed. "Sofia?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "That ended as soon as I left Italy mate."

Draco shook his head. His friends were truly unbelievable. He attached the letter he'd written to his mother and watched as his owl took off into the horizon.

"So things with you and Tracey…?"

Draco shrugged, his back to him. "Guess it just didn't take."

He turned to face Theo who was staring at him with an inscrutable expression.

They both started making their way down and Draco couldn't help feeling like there was something Theo desperately wanted to say— or worse, ask. He figured it might also have something to do with his relationship with Lovegood. Theo had never spoken about it, with either him nor Blaise but he'd seen them together around the castle and he knew the bloke well enough to know that he wouldn't waste his time spending it with a girl he wasn't interested in. Yet for some reason, he didn't once bring up Luna. Other than the fact that the girl was seriously barmy, he didn't see why Theo would be so cagey about it. Wasn't as if she was, for example, a Muggle-born. And she was barmy but in Ravenclaw, that sort of balanced things out. So what the bloody hell was his deal?

"How's our team looking? I'm glad Urquhart took you back. We might have a winning chance."

"Yeah, winning seems like a bit of a stretch but doesn't mean we won't try. We're playing better than ever actually," said Draco. "We have practice this evening and—oh fuck—I better run if I want to make it on time."

With that he left Theo and headed back to the dormitory to change into his Quidditch gear. When he was alone, his thoughts returned to his witch and he smiled. Thanks to her idiotic rules, he wouldn't be able to see her till next Tuesday, or Merlin forbid Thursday if by some fortuitous hell something came up. He hated being patient, it wasn't something he'd ever practiced, but he did have things he needed to do. Quidditch practice, a potions essay, patrol tomorrow, plotting the Dark Lord's demise, oh and Apparition class this Saturday— honestly he was really up to his neck and she'd just distract him anyway.

Running some water through his hair and over his face he got ready and made his way to the pitch.

* * *

The school week finished on a good note. Draco already felt his flying had improved. He'd been eating properly and exercising again, sticking to the routine he'd laid out. The downside was that he'd been too busy exerting all his energy on Quidditch and his classes to find out anything more about Tom Riddle. Snape had raised a suspicious eyebrow at him as he handed Draco his marked essay.

"Welcome back," he'd said dryly. "You are once again meeting the rigorous standards of academia."

Draco had to physically bite his tongue to hold back the vile spew that threatened to spill from his mouth. Finally having felt like he had found a firm footing with his classes and Quidditch he decided to spend the night in the Room of Requirement ravenously consuming anything he could get his hands on that would give him more information about the Dark Lord. It was surprising the things he'd been able to dig up by knowing what to search for, or more precisely whom to search for.

Tom Riddle.

It was a name he'd never heard of but he surmised quickly that if the Dark Lord had opened the Chamber of Secrets all those many years ago that meant he was heir to Salazar Slytherin.

It didn't take him long to uncover certain facts. Others, of course, were harder to come by.

One fact specifically that threw Draco off-kilter was the truth of the Dark Lord's blood status. The lying hypocritical snake was a Half-blood. All this time he'd spouted off about blood purity and he himself wasn't Pure! Anger radiated off Draco in waves but he embraced it happily. It only spurred him on to stay up later, to search for more and he did so till he could no longer keep his eyes open.

He woke a few hours later, his head on one of the books from the family library. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he went straight to the dungeons. It was still early and no one else would be up just yet. He contemplated squeezing in some morning exercise when he suddenly realized that Apparition class was this morning. Changing quietly into his flying gear while the others slept he left to the grounds in the cold morning air. By the time he was done he knew he was running late. He raced back to the dungeons and found that almost everyone had already left. Groaning he turned the shower cold to wake himself up noticing how the hot water was lulling him back to sleep.

Draco arrived just as the large doors to the Great Hall swung open to allow everyone in. The crowd shuffled through the entrance. Just as he'd got inside he heard a familiar voice.

"Pst!"

He turned around to find Crabbe.

"Where were you?" asked Goyle who was standing next to him.

Shrugging casually Draco replied, "Quidditch training."

Just then Wilkie Twycross, the apparition instructor, a ministry fellow that Draco recognized from one of his visits there with his father, began to speak.

"What's going on with that other thing? Don't you need us for... you know... we can still help."

"For the last time, no," snapped Draco. The two lugs had been following him around irritating him the last few days about wanting to help.

"I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you," ordered Twycross.

There was a great scrambling and jostling as people separated, banging into each other. The Heads of House moved among the students, organizing them into positions and putting a stop to petty arguments. This school really was a bloody joke.

"Pst!"

 _Merlin, give me strength._

Crabbe was about to open his big stupid mouth and Draco just knew he was going to ask what he was doing, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Look, it's none of your business. I don't need you two to keep a lookout anymore, now stop pestering me about it—"

"I tell my friends what I'm up to if I want them to keep a lookout for me," a voice said from behind him.

Draco snapped his head around so fast he thought he felt his neck crick. His hand instinctively went to his wand but at that precise moment the four Heads of House barked, "Quiet!"

Malfoy turned slowly to face the front. Potter… it was always Potter. Draco hadn't even noticed boy wonder standing right behind him. Between Crabbe's incessant prying and Potter's spying, he'd burst a blood vessel.

"Thank you," said Twycross. "Now then…"

He waved his wand. Old-fashioned wooden hoops instantly appeared on the floor in front of Draco. He gave himself a mental shake. He really hadn't been looking forward to these lessons but Apparition was important to learn so he put everything on his mind aside to concentrate on the task in front of him, or more specifically the wooden hoop.

"The important things to remember when Apparating are the three D's!" said Twycross. "Destination, Determination, Deliberation!"

Draco wanted to roll his eyes at whoever had come up with that little ditty.

"Step one: fix your mind firmly upon the desired destination," said Twycross. "In this case, the interior of your hoop. Kindly concentrate upon that destination now."

He stared in deep concentration at the space within his hoop. Destination.

"Step two," said Twycross, "focus your determination to occupy the visualized space! Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every particle of your body! Step three… only when I give the command… turn on the spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation. On my command, now… one—two—"

Draco closed his eyes imagining the hoop; repeating the three D's.

"— THREE!"

He spun on the spot, swaying a little off-balance, but nothing had happened. He was not the only one. Everyone else was staggering and falling; Longbottom, he noted with amusement was flat on his back; he looked over to the far side of the hall to see if Hermione had succeeded. He smirked as he saw her face scrunched in frustration at having failed.

"Never mind, never mind," said Twycross dryly, who did not seem to have expected anything better. "Adjust your hoops, please, and back to your original positions…"

The next attempts went just as badly. On their fourth try, there was a horrible screech of pain and Draco looked around, horrified, to see Susan something, wobbling in her hoop with her left leg still standing five feet away from where she'd started.

The Heads of House all ran to her. He couldn't see what they were doing; there was a great bang and a puff of purple smoke, which cleared to reveal her limb attached back to her body but she was sobbing, obviously mortified at the ordeal. Draco grimaced, feeling a lot less reluctant to try Apparating again.

"Splinching, or the separation of random body parts," said Twycross dispassionately, "occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continually upon your destination, and move, without haste…"

There was something about Twycross' words. That had been Draco's problem; he was 'insufficiently determined.' He didn't actually want to apparate. He really wanted to avoid the entire thing and it was perfectly reasonable considering what had happened the last time he'd done so. Albeit, he'd practically been a toddler, it still wasn't reassuring. He tried clearing his mind. Destination. Determination. Deliberation. Destination, determination, deliberation. He kept repeating these words to himself and was about to turn when—

OOF!

Something had collided into him knocking him back onto the floor.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. Goyle, the clumsy oaf—

He heard a gasp. Opening his eyes, he found Hermione beside him struggling to stand up. she swayed, folding over as if she'd been winded, and Potter rushed to her side to steady her.

"Hermione," said Potter. "Are you okay?"

Draco blinked in confusion. His head was throbbing.

Everyone had turned and was looking at them, speaking in whispers.

"Hermione," said Potter. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I..." she swayed, folding over as if she'd been winded, and Potter rushed to her side to steady her.

Had she just—

"You Apparated!" he exclaimed with an incredulous expression.

"I guess…" she trailed off trying to regain her equilibrium. She shot Draco a nervous look. "I… I must've gotten distracted thinking about…about you Harry. I was thinking about how you'd done this before—well not you—but, you know, side-along Apparition and, well…"

Draco bit his cheek, fuming. Yes, he thought. Tell them all how you a _pparated_ to your precious Potter. Hermione threw a quick glance at him, clearing her throat, her eyes asking for help. Then he noticed that Crabbe and a few other students were snickering. He clenched his fists angry at how easily he'd forgotten that everything outside of their room was a pretense. They hated each other and that had to be made transparently clear to every person in this room.

"Watch where you're apparating Mudblood," he hissed low enough so that none of the teachers at the front heard. Potter had his wand drawn so fast it was as if he'd been waiting for the opportunity to do so.

"Harry, stop," said Hermione. "You'll get into trouble." Draco was itching to reach for his own wand but he didn't, instead, he looked at her, wondering if this was how it was always going to be. Her standing next to Potter and a fucking wand in his face.

Looking right at her, he sneered mockingly, "Yes, _Harry_ , stop, you'll get into trouble."

Before anything more could be done McGonagall was marching over.

"Wand down Mister Potter!" she shouted. "Everyone back to your positions." Draco watched as Potter dropped his arm with great reluctance and the crowd began to disperse back to their places.

Twycross was clapping awkwardly, praising Hermione's success and urging everyone to continue trying. Draco's gaze drifted from the apparition instructor to Snape. The Potions Professor was staring at him with narrowed eyes; the two-faced Death-Eater was becoming increasingly problematic in an already complicated situation and Draco could only guess as to how long he could keep his Head of House in the dark.

* * *

Ron had had a sour look on his face the whole weekend. He'd been deliberately ignoring Hermione and when she'd asked if he wanted any help with his homework he'd shook his head without saying a word.

"Let me guess," she finally snapped. "You're sulking because I was able to apparate and you weren't."

His eyes darted to Lavender who was sitting on the couch by the fireplace talking animatedly with Parvati.

"Sure, whatever."

"Unbelievable!" she said exasperated. "Honestly, what is your problem? Harry doesn't care I was able to apparate before him, but, of course, you disapprove. Heaven forbid I do anything to hurt your precious ego."

Ron glared at both her and then Harry, in an accusatory manner.

"Mate," said Harry, "It's not like that."

Hermione looked at him questioningly.

"No," said Ron rising from the rug. "Let me give you two lovebirds some space."

Her mouth fell open as he marched out. Horrified at the implication, she quickly told Harry that it hadn't been intentional and she'd meant nothing by it.

"You realize he's jealous," he replied, looking at her pointedly. "Right?"

Hermione took a moment to process what he was saying.

"I wasn't going to butt in but… if you haven't already noticed… Ron's not keen on Lavender anymore."

Lowering her voice, she hissed. "Well, I'm not second-reserve! I gave him chance after chance and he chose her over me!"

Harry cringed, no doubt, at the bare truth of it. "Are you saying there's no chance at all," he asked hopefully, "no chance of changing your mind?"

Simmering beneath Hermione's resentment was a long-forgotten daydream, one of her and Ron together, living in a home much like the Weasley's burrow, Ginny, her and Harry going on double dates, traveling the French countryside… she'd once even envisioned a little girl with curly ginger hair. It was a dream she'd dared to imagine a long time ago and she understood that there was the potential for it to be more than that one day. Even in her anger, she loved Ron. Would always love Ron. If she wanted to pursue something with him, she could. She wasn't bound to Draco. In fact, he'd agreed to the rules, one which so clearly stipulates that she'd be well within her rights to do so.

And then with stunning clarity, Hermione knew.

She drew a deep breath. "It's too late for other choices," she sighed, echoing Draco's words. "I'm sorry."

Because she finally grasped just how desperately she wanted to be with Draco and no one else.

Harry seemed to deflate a little at her words. She really did feel bad, Harry was always getting caught in the crossfire between her and Ron. Feeling at a loss she gathered her things.

"I'm going to the library," she announced. "Talk some sense into Ron, I can't be bothered dealing with him anymore. When he's done acting like a child I'll speak to him."

Hermione was relieved to get out of the common room and retreat to the familiar shelves of the Hogwarts library. If she was being honest she felt like a neurotic mess most of the time. Her eyes were always searching for his blonde hair; in class, in the Great hall, in the corridors, the courtyard, everywhere. The knowledge that she'd see him again on Tuesday kept her sane and the week couldn't go by any slower.

But he was waiting for her. Waiting, the same way she was waiting.

She gave a tired sigh, replaying his words. The sheer intensity of the way he'd spoken them frightened her. The undeniable desire to consume him after he'd said them was even more frightening.

Hermione was no longer down the rabbit hole. She was most definitely in Wonderland now; a place where nothing made any sense.

Standing, she made her way to one of the shelves, her fingers tracing the books as she searched. There was a particular ingredient she wasn't sure about for a potion and—

Someone covered her eyes.

"Don't scream."

"Draco," she said surprised. "What are you doing? I thought we said Tuesday."

"We did," he agreed and she could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "But if you keep your eyes closed, then technically this doesn't count."

His hands fell from her eyes and wrapped around her waist, his face nuzzling her neck.

She gasped.

"Someone could see," she swallowed nervously.

"I checked," said Draco sounding certain. "You're practically the only swot in the library this late on a Sunday."

Hermione pursed her lips to suppress a smile. "Were you here looking for a book Mister Malfoy?"

Draco kissed her below her ear. "You apparated," he said abruptly. "You apparated to me."

She turned opening her eyes.

"You just broke the rule," he chided pointing his finger at her.

Hermione ignored him bowing her head shyly. She pushed her hair behind her ear.

She explained how she'd been thinking about the time he'd apparated into the lake, the story still fresh in her mind and suddenly the next thing she knew, she was on the floor next to him.

Smirking, he asked, "Think about me constantly, do you?"

A blush crept up her neck and to her cheeks. "No-no, I—"

He slid his hand around her neck and pulled her close to him. Punctuating each word with a kiss, he whispered, "Destination—determination—deliberation."

She laughed against his mouth. He laughed with her. The sound of it was drugging. The tips of their noses brushed and she wondered if he'd ever heard of Eskimo kisses.

"I miss you," she admitted breathlessly.

Without a word he pressed her against the shelf and kissed her again; a kiss absent of any humor.

His hand was tangled in her hair, the other frantically caressing her. Part of her wanted to let go but the other reminded her that they were snogging in the middle of the bloody library.

Hermione pushed on his shoulder. "Someone might see," she said anxiously peering over him. She certainly wanted to end all the secrecy but had no desire for anyone to find out this way.

He sighed as he created distance between them.

A look of yearning flashed across his face and then it was gone.

Hermione watched him walk away.

She learned at that moment that she could spend an entire lifetime kissing Draco Malfoy and it still wouldn't be enough.


	31. Lie to Me: Part II

_the Summer after Voldemort returned..._

The grass was damp, squelching underneath his feet and despite the morning sun, the air was misty and cool.

"I still don't understand why I had to come," grumbled Draco.

His father regarded him evenly. "I thought you were a fan of Viktor Krum."

Draco, for reasons he couldn't understand, had failed to mention to his father that Viktor Krum was a good-for-nothing Mudblood lover. Every time he allowed himself to think about the revolting intimacy he and Granger had displayed at the Yule Ball he wanted to vomit. He'd had his hands all over her filthy body while they danced and only Merlin knew what depraved thoughts delved inside that thick Bulgarian skull of his.

Just then Krum, who'd been flying above Durmstrangs large Quidditch pitch, began to descend. As he reached the ground he jumped off his broom.

His father smiled tightlipped as he approached and offered his hand. "Viktor Krum. I am Lucius Malfoy. I work closely with those at the British Ministry of Magic."

Krum frowned, furrowing his thick eyebrows as he eyed the hand with distaste. After a moment he took it.

"Vat is this about?"

Draco couldn't stand the boy's accent. Honestly, why did he have to come?

"It concerns your former headmaster. Igor Karkaroff—"

"I do not know vare he is," said Krum abruptly. "Vhy vould I?"

"Well, we at the Ministry are concerned about his disappearance. In fact, he and I are… _old friends_. I have it on good authority that you two were quite close, that he even doted on you. Perhaps he confided as to—"

"He did not."

Draco was growing tired of this conversation and his stupid bloody face. He wanted to go home already.

"I see," his father replied pursing his lips.

There was a pregnant pause, where only the wind could be heard.

"Oh," his father said breaking the silence. "This is my son, Draco Malfoy."

Krum's eyes narrowed in recognition. "Ve have met at Hogvarts."

Just then a man Draco didn't recognize emerged from the castle waiting near the large front doors.

"Excuse me," said his father civilly. "I have an appointment to keep—Draco, take a tour of the grounds—don't go near the lake."

Then he understood why he'd been dragged along. Well, his father had greatly overestimated his acquaintance with Viktor Krum if he thought he'd be able to get answers from him about Karkaroff's whereabouts.

Once his father was no longer within earshot Krum turned to him and spoke in a surly manner.

"How do you like Durmstrang?" he asked.

Draco gave a half-hearted shrug. "I haven't seen the inside of the castle but the grounds are impressive, perhaps even more than ours," he answered honestly.

Looking around in admiration of his country's landscape Krum said, "I have invited Herm-own-ninny to view the beauty of the mountains and lakes."

He grimaced at the mention of Granger. Disgusting blood-traitor couldn't even pronounce her name.

"You have, have you?"

"Yes."

Draco felt sick to his stomach.

"You know," Krum continued with a measure of uncertainty. "She has mentioned you."

He raised an eyebrow questioningly. "She has, has she?"

"Yes," he snorted. "She has said to me, that you are vile—like vat do you call it—a roach."

Draco clenched his fists but his lips tugged into a scathing smile. "I don't take notice of what Mudbloods say. They're beneath me."

The Bulgarian's eyes flashed, flicking his broom from one hand to the other.

"She does not take notice of you either Drago Malfoy."

With those parting words, Krum went into the broom shed to put his Firebolt away and then tromped back to the castle, leaving Draco stewing in fury. He stood there for some minutes with his gaze fixed on the door to the broom shed as he decided something.

The trip ended up being his first and last visit to Bulgaria.

* * *

The next week went by in a blur. Hermione had met Draco on Tuesday as they'd planned. She had brought some homework with her which he wasn't altogether pleased about so she'd done a little and put it away. Then he'd demanded that she bring the 'muggle picture thing' to the Room of Requirement and after having repeatedly refused to do so, she was forced to explain to him, in excruciatingly painful detail, the end of The Lord of the Rings movie, which he'd missed.

The most surprising thing about being with Draco Malfoy was that she wasn't entirely sure if she was with a petulant, excitable child, a snarky, brooding teenager or a quiet, contemplative man. There were brief moments where he'd become lost, staring at nothing with a frighteningly meditative appearance. Even more terrifying was when that gaze drifted to hers and softened with a look of undying adoration.

It was proving very difficult not to think about him, especially now while she was brewing Amortentia. Professor Slughorn had surprised the class by announcing that since it was Valentine's day, it was fitting for students to try their hand at concocting an imitation of love.

Fumes wafted from all the cauldrons, filling the room.

Ron chuckled as he spoke to Harry.

"He'll be fine," he drawled. "Just a broken arm. Not like the time you fell and had to regrow your bones."

"What's that?" asked Hermione, drawn into the conversation by her curiosity.

"McLaggen fell off his broom during practice," Ron snorted happily. "It was hilarious."

Hermione clucked her tongue at him reproachfully. Deep down, however, there was a part of her that thought he deserved it a little. Cormac was always handsy with her ever since Slughorn's Christmas party. He'd approached her a few times after and made suggestive remarks on how they might spend their time together. The last time she'd spoken to him was in the courtyard where thankfully Harry had intervened with a fib about needing to go see Hagrid.

Shrugging Ron said, "Not the first time someone's fallen. It is Quidditch after all. Just saying it was funny."

Slughorn was making the rounds in the classroom looking to see how everyone was progressing with the potion. He was just coming over to the Gryffindor table when Hermione accidentally knocked over her vial of pearl dust, sprinkling it all over the floor.

"Sorry sir," she said cleaning the mess with her wand. "I've been an absolute klutz all day."

"That's quite alright, just get some more from the storeroom and be careful the second time around."

She walked toward the back, past the Slytherin table and stole a glimpse of Draco who was concentrating on his potion.

Entering the small dimly lit room, she skimmed the odd ingredients on the shelves, stopping to look closely at the ones she'd never heard of until her eyes landed on what she was looking for.

Pearl dust!

It was placed on a high shelf and just as she was reaching for it, someone caught her around her waist.

"Draco," she gasped. He nuzzled her cheek moving down her jaw to her neck.

She turned in his arms. "What are you doing?" she hissed. "We're in the middle of potions."

He ignored her, covering his mouth with hers.

She sighed into it.

"Potter's cheating again," he murmured in between kisses.

"He is," she breathed.

Draco flicked his tongue out to trace her lips. They were snogging each other senseless. She whimpered as her back struck the shelves. Then she was pulling him closer and his hands were—

"Having trouble with the potion?" Came Professor Slughorn's voice as the door opened. They broke apart, turning their backs to each other, both looking disheveled and flushed.

"Not to worry," he hummed browsing the shelves. "Tricky business Amortentia… most dangerous…"

With a grand "Ah-ha!", Slughorn presented them with a vial of pearl dust and an ashwinder egg. Taking the potion ingredients, they both thanked the professor and hurried out of the supply room, either unable to look him in the eye.

Hermione could die of embarrassment. She didn't know what was wrong with her. It was the potion, this entire room was filled with the scent of him and her head was filled with all the things she had yet done to him. She wanted to press her nose against the skin of his neck, like when she'd woken next to him, but now she wanted to kiss him there, taste him, mark him.

"You alright?" asked Harry tearing her away from her daydream. "You seem—"

"I'm fine," she snapped. "Not all of us have the Half-Blood Prince to help us."

He looked taken aback.

"I'm sorry," she groaned apologetically. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'm coming down with something."

His forehead creased with concern and she declined when he offered to take her to Madam Pomfrey's.

"I can take you," Ron chimed in. "Harry's right, you're looking a little flushed. It could be serious."

"It's not that bad, really," said Hermione dismissively.

Just as things couldn't seem to get worse, Professor Slughorn had wandered over.

"What seems to be the problem, Harry?"

"Hermione isn't feeling well sir—"

"No, no, I'm fine."

"Better go see Pomfrey then—Mister Malfoy," he said calling Draco over. "Yes, come here—Escort Miss Granger to—"

"I'll go," Harry interjected sharply, coming to stand next to her.

Professor Slughorn waved him away. "Quite alright, you must stay here my boy, finish the potion. You're my star student after all."

Harry's eyes were narrowed on Draco.

"I can go, sir," Ron piped up.

"No, no, you need much improvement, my dear Wendell."

Everyone was looking at them.

"It's really fine," Hermione tried to explain. "I'm fine."

"Nonsense!" The Professor said smacking his stomach with a cheery smile. "Off you go, the two of you, don't dawdle now." He practically pushed Hermione along, Draco trailing behind looking confused. As the door closed she heard Slughorn say, "No boys, not you two. Concentrate now..."

Her heart began to race. Professor Slughorn knew. He'd definitely seen them.

"You're not feeling well?" asked Draco spinning her to him. He pressed the back of his palm to feel her forehead. She batted his hand away irritated with him.

"I'm not sick, they just think I am."

"Why?"

"They were saying I was acting funny, said I looked flushed, I panicked, I told him I was ill."

Draco let out a laugh.

"It's not funny!" she admonished stomping her foot. "And Professor Slughorn saw us—"

"Well I told you we would get caught," he tutted reproachfully.

Hermione gaped at him. He burst out laughing again, finding the entire thing amusing.

"You're intolerable Draco Malfoy! Half the time I'm with you, I want to kill you."

Ignoring her he pulled her into him and pressed a kiss on her forehead muttering something about adorable. She tore away.

"Someone will see us! Aren't you the one who wanted to keep this a secret?"

"Sorry," he said pursing his lips trying to look serious. "I'm just feeling a little lightheaded… Shall we go to the lake?"

She gaped at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"We can't just—put me down!" she screamed because without any warning Draco had hoisted her over his shoulder and started walking. He gave her a light tap on the bum and told her to be quiet unless she wanted the whole castle to hear them.

Despite her best efforts, Hermione began to smile at the absurdity of being carried around like a sack of potatoes with her bright red knickers showing for the world to see. How would he explain himself if someone saw them? "We're going to get into trouble!" She giggled, kicking her legs out.

"Stop squirming," he ordered smacking her bum again.

She yelped. "Do that again and I'll hex you!"

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," he drawled.

"What's with you today?" she asked incredulously. "I've never seen you like this before."

"It's Valentine's Day, alright," Draco whined. "Slughorn's given us the perfect opportunity and we're not going to waste it."

Hermione fought to suppress a grin. Draco Malfoy wanted to spend Valentine's day with her.

"Okay," she said already beginning to regret it. "But let me walk myself there, my knickers are showing in midair!"

"Yes," he hummed. "True Gryffindor through and through."

"Draco!" she gasped, kicking her legs out again.

He put her down with a smug look on his face.

Hermione cast a disillusionment charm on them both and they walked down to the lake together. It wasn't as effective as having Harry's invisibility cloak so at one point they had to sneak past Professor Sprout by creating a diversion. She had clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing when Draco made the stack of papers in her hand fly out in a whirlwind and she ran around the corridor in alarm trying to gather them.

"You're terrible," she giggled as they reached the fringe of the lake. Draco conjured a blanket and set it down on the ground while Hermione cast a warming charm.

They flopped down laying beside each other.

After some moments of staring out at the lake in silence, Draco demanded she tell him a secret. "It's only fair," he insisted.

Hermione made him pinky promise to never tell anyone. She smiled at him when he offered his little finger readily.

Draco's expression turned somber as she explained that only Harry and Ron knew, how she hadn't even had the courage to tell her parents.

"Okay," she said drawing a deep breath. "I got an Exceeds Expectations on my O.W.L's for DADA…. there… I said it."

He pursed his lips. Looking at her with a grave tone he asked, "Hermione, didn't you study?"

"I did!" she exclaimed, hiding her face behind her hands. "I don't know where it all went so wrong."

Then she heard muffled laughing.

"Draco Malfoy!" she yelled. "You're a wicked, wicked boy! It's really not funny."

"Hermione, please, you sat nine O.W.L's and I'm guessing you got Outstanding in everything else."

She huffed. "Well, what did you get?"

He shrugged, feigning as if he couldn't remember.

"Tell me!"

Rolling his eyes, he said he'd tell her but she wasn't allowed to get all riled up. Her eyes widened and she imagined that perhaps he'd done really badly.

"I sat eight subjects and I got all Outstanding's."

Hermione stopped breathing.

"Don't worry, you've still got me beat… as usual."

Her mouth fell on his in a heated kiss, pushing him onto the ground. He was absolutely brilliant. Her tongue brushed against his and she moaned imagining all the possibilities. Maybe after their N.E.W.T.S they'd both become world-renowned potion masters or join the Ministry or—"

"Merlin," he said coming up for air. "I knew you'd get all _weird_. It's disgusting really. I don't think you've ever been so hot for me."

She laughed against his mouth placing small pecks all over his face.

"I'm in awe of you, silly."

He smirked. "Well, it's thanks to you really. Father was always on my back about being beaten by a Mud—Muggle-born so I studied with Theo—he got all Outstanding's too. Spent more time helping me than studying himself."

"Theodore Nott?" she clarified, unable to hide her astonishment.

Draco wore a look of smug satisfaction. "You know there is a reason we were chosen as Prefects."

"I just— _really_ —I can't believe it. He's so…"

Draco chuckled. "Going to drop me for him now, are you?"

Hermione tilted her head as if to consider it. She burst into a fit of giggles when he flipped her over effectively trapping her.

"Well you can't," he said quickly. "So don't get any bright ideas."

"I'm just surprised there are so many smart Slytherins," she teased. "Crabbe and Goyle are doing your house a real disservice."

Draco smiled rolling off of her to lie by her side. "Those two do themselves a disservice but seriously— Theo's probably the second smartest person I know."

Considering Hermione had been the only student to sit nine O.W.L's she assumed the first would be her.

Biting her lip, she asked who the smartest was.

"Me, of course," he grinned as if it should be obvious.

Hermione rolled her eyes and smacked him on the arm.

"It's true!" he insisted raising his hands to protect himself. "I mean… I chose you didn't I?"

Hermione's lips cracked into a smile. She buried her face in his chest to hide the blush suffusing her cheeks. Cocky, charming Slytherin. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her.

How dare he.

She pursed her lips, giddy with happiness.

"Tell me another secret," she said quickly, afraid of another compliment that would turn her into a gushing schoolgirl. "It's your turn again."

He angled his head to look at her, a crooked smile on his face. "Okay, I have one but you're not going to like it… and I really shouldn't be telling you but…"

Hermione turned onto her stomach and gave him her full attention.

"Blaise was secretly seeing that jumped up Weasley girl you're always with."

She scoffed. "No they weren't—and don't be mean, Ginny's wonderful!"

"Well, I don't know about her being wonderful but I do know she used to snog Blaise while she was still dating that Corner bloke."

Hermione couldn't believe that they'd both kept such big secrets from one another, couldn't believe that Ginny had lied.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I refuse to believe that," she announced.

Draco shrugged as if the truth of it all had no consequence to him.

Looking out into the lake she murmured, "But she hates Blaise Zabini _._ "

Folding his arms under his head, Draco looked to the sky thoughtfully. "You hated me."

"That's different," she retorted quickly. "She was mad about Michael and—"

"You were mad about Weasley."

An awkward silence followed his comment. Hermione opened her mouth to deny it but wavered. It was true. She really had been mad about Ron.

"Do you still…?"

"Wait," she sighed sitting up. "Are you asking me if I still have feelings for Ron?"

Draco avoided meeting her eyes as he began tugging on little blades of grass. Hermione slowly climbed to straddle him, her hands on his chest. He was looking up at her anxiously and she couldn't imagine how he still hadn't figured it out by now. Granted, she hadn't told him, but hadn't her actions spoken for her?

"I thought you already knew."

"Knew what?" he asked, wrenching the grass right out of the soil.

She licked her lips.

"That I—" The words stuck in her throat. "—don't feel that way about Ron anymore. We're just friends."

Draco deflated. "Right..."

Hermione frowned sensing that something was wrong, that perhaps she'd said the wrong thing but decided not to spend the little time they had together trying to figure it out.

For ten minutes they laid there, languid and in each other's arms before it began to drizzle.


	32. Lie to Me: Part III

It was Tuesday again, a day that was fast becoming her favorite day. Hermione had waited eagerly, from the time she rose till late in the night when it was safe to sneak away. Which is why she was annoyed when she received a message from him telling her that there was no way he'd be able to sneak out from the dungeons without being noticed. The whole of Slytherin house was up celebrating their victory against Ravenclaw. Draco had caught the snitch at the last minute putting them points ahead. She ought to have predicted this would happen, what with the way everyone was cheering him on after the match and the cocky arrogant expression that had been plastered on his face since. Some of the Slytherin girls were practically fawning over him.

It was like Ron all over again.

Suppressing the urge to go over to the dungeons and strangle him in front of a large audience, she sent a message back.

 _This is why we have Thursday._

She fell onto her bed with a huff. The coin grew warm on her skin.

 _I'm waiting to be with you... just waiting._

Hermione closed her eyes tracing the gold string of the bracelet. The thrum of his magic was always there, faint but constant.

When had she fallen in love with him?

She couldn't say.

It was so ingrained in her now that the knowledge of how it got there, she couldn't remember. He was constantly on her mind and it was wonderfully awful. She'd never tell him though, never let him know just how quickly she'd succumbed to it. He'd taken years while she'd taken a handful of months and that didn't sit right with her on most days.

That night Hermione was feeling so restless, she snuck into the room without him, walking around its small space, memorizing the furniture, touching things. There was a tiny pin on the floor. She picked it up and placed it on the bookshelf. Then she took one of Draco's books and got under the covers. After a few minutes of reading, she buried her nose into his pillow and fell into a deep asleep.

* * *

She'd just reached the tapestry when she saw Draco walking toward her from the other end of the corridor.

He gave her a smirk. "You're out past curfew, Miss Granger."

"I'm meeting a boy," she grinned. "Several, actually."

Draco pushed lightly against her shoulder pouting. "Not funny."

Hermione reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I missed you."

He dipped his head and gave her a small kiss.

"Come on," said Draco, pulling her into the room. "I have a lead on Regulus Black."

Hermione was already taking off her robes and shoes, making herself comfortable.

"What is it?" she asked, not having realized that he'd been looking into Regulus' disappearance without her.

"There were witness reports," he said handing her a file.

Her brows furrowed as she flipped through the sheets of parchment. "How did you get this?"

Draco was avoiding her eyes. He mumbled something so fast it was unintelligible.

"Say that again."

He let out a heavy sigh snatching it back from her. "I asked Nix for a small favor."

Crossing her arms, she chided him. "Seeing as he can't say no to you, it's more like an order."

He rolled his eyes at her and it was infuriating.

"What did you ask him exactly?" she demanded.

It was obvious Draco was reluctant to tell her anything, which only made her more curious. She watched as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, probably trying to decide whether he could get away with a lie.

"I asked him if he could break into the records room in the Magical Law Enforcement Department."

Hermione's mouth fell open.

"You got your poor house-elf to break into the Ministry?"

"I asked if he was able to. Next thing I know he'd _disapparated_!"

Her eyes grew wide. "Is that how you got all the old newspaper articles from the Prophet?"

"Yes," he admitted. "He's a very resourceful little fellow."

"Draco!" she scolded smacking his arm. "That's really out of line!"

"I just thought that since we've already exhausted the Hogwarts library and the family library, we might as well try… _other libraries_ —"

"The Magical Law Enforcement records room is not a library!"

He pouted petulantly. It was probably the same look he used on his parents to get his way.

She glared daggers at him.

"Want to know what I found or not?" he huffed like a sullen child.

She pursed her lips unable to deny her curiosity. "Yes alright," she said exasperated. "Tell me."

"Regulus's mother—Walburga Black—made an official statement when he went missing, his father too."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "What did they say?"

"Nothing," he replied. "Their statements are completely useless. They'd stepped out for a few hours and by the time they'd returned he was gone..."

She waited for him to continue. " _And_?" she demanded. The suspense was killing her.

Draco suppressed a smile. Her eyes narrowed on him. The smug Slytherin was dragging this all out on purpose.

"The Auror's missing person report states that all possible witnesses were interviewed, no magical trace, no trail, no leads, dead-end, etcetera, etcetera—but as usual, Aurors are all idiots."

She smacked his arm for a second time and he laughed.

"The next one will be a slap," she promised.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he mumbled under his breath. "So, there's nothing in the case file that suggests that he was taken forcibly out of his home—which makes sense considering how protection charms cast on wizarding properties are almost impenetrable, especially an old house owned by a Pureblood family like the Blacks—which means, the last person to see him alive _before_ he left would have been at his house the night he went missing. If it wasn't his mother or his father—and it couldn't have been his brother, because he'd been disowned, it must have been—"

"His house-elf!" she exclaimed. "Of course!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You stole my reveal."

She grinned cheekily biting her lip and apologized.

"Anyway," he continued. "The Black's must've had a house-elf and if there's anything I've learned it's that house-elves are always bloody lurking around, popping up in random places. No bloody concept of personal boundaries. They know just about every dark family secret so I wager Regulus' elf has an idea of what happened to him."

"Kreacher!" she squealed with excitement. "The Black family's house-elf is Kreacher—I can't believe they didn't interview him—this is exactly my point—elves are always being overlooked, taken for granted, I mean, honestly!"

Draco tilted his head and mumbled the name, almost to himself. "Sounds familiar," he mulled.

"This is why I started S.P.E.W, to advocate—"

"Getting off track," intoned Draco.

Hermione paused. "Right... sorry."

She sat on the edge of the bed and began to turn things over in her head.

"Wait," she said suddenly deflating. "If Kreacher knew what happened to Regulus, wouldn't he have told someone, Sirius, or Harry or I don't know, his mother and father?"

Draco tossed the thick file on the table and collapsed on the bed next to her in exhaustion. He brought his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

They shot open a second later.

"If Regulus Black told Kreacher not to say a word, then no, he wouldn't have."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Of course!" she said once again.

She grinned. He was so smart.

"Wait."

Draco groaned at the word.

"How can we get Kreacher to tell us if he's been ordered not to tell anyone?" she asked.

He was quiet, thinking again.

"We can't," he said in a defeated tone. "A house-elf can't disobey a direct command from his master. He'd sooner kill himself than give up anything he was ordered not to speak of."

Hermione huffed and leaned back against the pillows.

"Unless," said Draco suddenly smiling. "His new master orders him to do so and both Sirius and Regulus are dead and isn't my mother technically—"

"Kreacher is Harry's house-elf now. Sirius left him the house so Kreacher's ownership was passed down."

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. "He's a bloody pain in my arse that Potter."

There was a long pause.

"I could ask Harry to ask Kreacher—"

"No," he bit out.

"Look I don't have to mention anything about you, I could pretend I came up with the idea all on my own," she insisted.

Draco was shaking his head. "I don't want you or Potter anywhere near this. Your involvement is limited to using that pretty little head of yours, anything else would be too dangerous."

Hermione scoffed. "Trust me, I've been in danger every year I've been in Hogwarts and come out fine."

"You're right," he said sitting up. "You've done a lot of stupid, careless, dangerous things in the past, but it stops now."

"Draco—"

"I'm dead fucking serious Hermione. If I find out that you've asked Potter to ask Kreacher, hell, if you do _anything_ that puts you in any kind of danger, _this_ , whatever this is between us, it's over."

"I'm not a child," she said through clenched teeth. "And I'm not Pansy Parkinson, so when you say jump I don't ask how high!"

"Yeah, well, look at her, not one bloody scratch on her, whereas you," he said flicking the collar of her shirt to where her scar was, " _have that_."

Hermione's face flushed with anger. "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Draco was running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It means that you're likely to get yourself killed."

"Oh, and you're not?" Hermione retorted incensed. "Which one of us was just in the hospital wing, hm?"

"That was different," he muttered under his breath. "I was… _that was different_. Besides this isn't about me, I'm already… it's about you. I want to keep you safe."

Hermione was shaking her head, screaming no a thousand times over, because as far as she knew, her blood, her friendship with Harry, she'd always been a target, she'd never been safe. And then in a whisper, he confirmed what she'd feared all along.

"I just don't trust you."

Draco must've seen the hurt written on her face because he reached for her.

"Not like that" he corrected quickly. "I just mean—well, for starters you don't know Occlumency which means your mind is like an open book. You're impulsive, emotional, and if you ask me, the only reason you bloody lot are still alive is thanks to Potter's inexplicable luck. You're powerful and talented—I'll give you that—but know nothing of strategy. Look at how easily the Dark Lord lured you all to the Ministry. If one of you bloody Gryffindors had just stopped to think before running off—that's the problem with you lot—you never seem to see the bigger picture."

He bowed his head with a heavy sigh. "When I say I don't trust you, I do, I just don't trust that you won't dive headfirst into danger."

Hermione opened her mouth to refute everything he'd just said but something stopped her. Something he said stood out.

"What big picture?"

He raised his eyes to hers and blinked. "Weighing of consequences, birds-eye view, big picture—it's metaphorical."

She stood near the bed, searching his eyes.

Something clicked in Hermione, something till then that had never occurred to her and she couldn't believe how blind she'd been. Her eyes widened locking on his, she swayed back because it was suddenly so clear. Riddle's diary, the Chamber of Secrets, solving the disappearance of Regulus Black and his insistence that she not know anything, he was plotting something, something big—the bigger picture.

Raising her voice, she repeated the question.

Draco's expression remained blank.

"Oh, God."

"Hermione—"

"What are you planning?" she demanded.

"I already told you," he huffed, standing up. "The less you know the better. It's safer that way."

Swallowing she stammered, "The Chamber of Secrets, I-I want to know, what did you want with that place?"

He licked his lips and Hermione noticed an infinitesimal movement of his eyes.

She twisted around to look at the wall behind her, and then back to him again.

"What are you—?" she started to ask but paused remembering the pin she'd found on the floor.

Hermione grabbed her wand and yelled, " _Revelio_!"

The back wall, which had always been bare, began to shimmer and then suddenly, a large canvas revealed itself, stretched out to the corners; pictures, pieces of parchment, newspaper clippings all connected with pieces of string. She stepped back, trying to absorb all of it but before she could hold it in her memory it vanished again.

She turned around. Draco had his wand in his hand with a furious expression on his face.

"DO NOT do that again," he warned.

But she was furious as well. Livid.

"I knew you were always a cocky arrogant prat but I didn't realize you were stupid enough to think you could take on Voldemort by yourself!"

Squinting his eyes at her he raised his wand pointedly. "Watch your mouth—"

"Don't you raise your wand at me!" she yelled raising hers as well.

Draco dropped his arm sheepishly. "I wasn't," he stuttered. "I didn't mean to—put your wand down before you hurt yourself, this isn't a duel."

"Well, I was just thinking I could kill you myself and save Voldemort the trouble."

"Your concern for me is cute but it won't end that way," he sneered.

The certainty with which he spoke terrified her. Then she was trembling, her wand hand shook... she was unbelievably afraid for him. He was doing something so dangerous and he wouldn't even tell her what it was, didn't even trust her to know the things he knew. Tears springing to her eyes she lowered her wand.

"This is exactly what I mean when I say I can't tell you anything. Look at you, you're all emotional and sensitive—"

"That's not fair, you're just as erratic as I am!"

"Because you're constantly driving me to the brink of insanity!" he exclaimed fisting his hands in his hair. "Believe it or not, Hermione, I was a bloody normal wizard before you came along."

"No, you were an arsehole and now you're a selfish arsehole!"

He clucked his tongue as if to say she was dead wrong.

"You're going to get yourself killed," she whispered.

"Stop saying that," Draco sighed, grabbing her face in his hands. "I won't get caught."

But she was shaking her head, squeezing her eyes shut. He was doing it again. Touching her, saying things, trying to distract her.

"You have to go to Professor Dumbledore," she said, distancing herself from him.

Draco scoffed. "And tell him what… that I've been trying to kill him? That I almost killed Katie Bell?"

"The Order will help you if you just explain—"

"They'll send me to Azkaban and put me in a cell next to my father."

"They won't," she argued. "You were under duress."

He was shaking his head, his fingers clawing at his left forearm. "I took it willingly. Hell, I wanted it—"

"It was a mistake. You didn't know any better!"

"But didn't I?" He visibly gulped. "You don't know the things I've done."

"You're not a bad person Draco, I know you, I—"

"YOU DON'T!" he bellowed startling her. "You only see what you want to see, even the Mark, you pretend like it's not there!"

"Because you're not like them—"

"How do you think your boyfriend McLaggen is fairing after I hexed his broom?" he spat dryly. "His fall wasn't as bad as Krum's, was it?"

The blood drained from Hermione's face. She remembered the incident all too well from Victor's letters that summer. He'd written to her while he was healing and said it was the first time he'd ever fallen from such a height but merely chalked it up to bad luck. But Draco couldn't have, he wasn't even there, it was impossible.

"No," she whispered, shaking off his words. "It's not… they were just accidents."

Draco laughed seemingly amused. "You'd be amazed at what you can get away with when no one is looking."

She was waiting for him to say something, to take it back, to tell her he was just trying to rile her up but there was something about his casual manner that told her it was no lie. Instead, she watched as he reached up and tugged on one of her curls giving her a small smile.

"You look the most beautiful in blue," he murmured shyly. "Did you know that?"

A shiver ran down her spine. Somewhere in her closet hung the blue periwinkle dress she'd worn to the Yule ball, sitting there gathering dust and by now it no longer fit her.

She felt herself growing smaller in his presence.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Draco pressed his lips together bringing his hands to a steeple as if to think.

"Because I want this to be real," he said finally.

"So hurting Cormac makes this real? He broke his arm!"

She watched as his jaw clenched. " _No_ , telling you the truth makes this real. Breaking that wankers arm just makes my day."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked gaping at him.

His eyes set on hers he answered in an unyielding tone, "I don't like people touching my things and that tosser had his ogre hands all over you!"

Hermione flinched, her eyes widening. There was no mistaking the underlying implication of his words.

"You don't own me," she said in a severe tone. "I'm not a toy for you to fight over."

Draco stared her down but kept quiet.

"Is there anything else I should know?" she asked believing the conversation would end there. He'd say no, that's it, now she knows everything and they can move on.

He stepped toward her and began to speak slowly.

"I spent the summer with Bellatrix learning how to cast the Unforgiveables. In fact, I'm very good at the Imperius curse, I had Madam Rosmerta under it for months—that's how I did it—I gave her the necklace, who then gave it to Katie Bell at the Three Broomsticks..."

Hermione had fallen into a silent shock, wrapping her arms around her as if to shield herself.

"I've also spent the last few months trying to let Death Eaters into the castle to kill Professor Dumbledore."

"You… you were scared," she stammered weakly, trying to convince herself more than him. "Things are different now, _you're different now_."

Draco barked a humorless laugh running a hand through his hair.

Her back hit one of the bedposts.

"I was considering a second attempt," he continued softly, staring at the bedsheets. "Poison. Overheard you and Potter in the library once."

He raised his eyes to hers and there was a sliver of terror in them.

"Sometimes… when I let the fear in… I think it's not too late, I can still carry out my original plan, I can figure out how to let the Death Eaters into the castle—hell, the Dark Lord might even reward me... but I don't... "

Hermione felt her throat constrict. In a small voice, she asked, "And if he gave your father his freedom, if he did offer you a reward, what then?"

"He'd never give me what I want," frowned Draco. "He wouldn't allow me to keep you."

Her pulse quickened, blood running cold in her veins. "But if he did...?"

There was a deafening silence as their eyes locked.

"You're disgusting," she spat, her anger beginning to catch up with her overwhelming disappointment in him.

"What do you want me to say Hermione?" he rasped. "Do you want me to lie to you, tell you that I'm sorry, that I didn't do those things, that I've changed, that I'm doing this for the good of wizarding kind and Hufflepuffs everywhere—"

"YES!" she cried, her voice hoarse. "Lie, Draco! _Lie to me._ "

Hermione covered her ears with her hands, wishing she could un-hear everything. How could she possibly be with him when there was so much more truth than what she'd imagined there to be? She thought she understood but she'd forgotten something so crucial. Draco Malfoy, even on his best behavior, was selfish to his core.

Lamenting she demanded, "Why, _why_ did you have to tell me?"

Draco brought his palm to her cheek, forcing her to meet his stormy grey eyes. She realized they were perhaps his only feature that ever showed a trace of his true feelings.

"I don't want to fight anymore," he whispered.

She couldn't breathe. There was so much wrong with him.

Hermione heard herself say, "You—I can't—I can't do this."

" _Don't_."

But she had to, she had to leave, she had to at least try to leave him.

Hermione made to move to the door. He blocked her.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice breaking. "Confess to Krum, write Hagrid a glowing teacher's recommendation, buy Longbottom a Remembrall—WHAT? Tell me and I'll do it."

When she spoke it was so soft she could barely hear herself. "I don't know."

He fell to his knees. "You want me to beg?" She watched stunned, as he began to breathe heavily as if the exertion of such a thing was physically overwhelming.

"Don't go," he choked clutching to her hips. " _Please_."

A shudder coursed through her as she heard the word slip through his lips. She made to leave again, knowing now, more than ever, that she shouldn't be here. He held her back as she tried to escape his grasp.

"Draco, stop."

But he wouldn't. His grip was iron tight around her waist, almost painful. She pushed hard against his shoulder and they both fell to the floor.

"Let go," she huffed trying to push him off, but his hold on her wouldn't allow it. "Let me go!"

"I can't!" he shouted. "I've tried and I can't!"

His eyes were glistening and red. Hermione whimpered. "Draco—"

"No!" he yelled. "You wanted the truth, you fed me Veritaserum to get it, and now that you finally have it you can't handle it! But you don't get to walk away from this just because I don't live up to your expectations—you knew who I was when you started this—you know what I am! Isn't it enough that I'm doing this for you? Risking my life to be with you? I love you, Hermione! What more do you fucking want from me?"

She was panting, staring up at him in disbelief. Her chest heaving with the weight of his words.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

His lips were far too close.

"What do you want?"

His hand ran down her chest and underneath her clothes searching for skin.

And she was ashamed that she kissed him back, didn't even put up a fight. Because those words, they made everything else seem forgivable. They made her latch onto his lips and his hair, to press her body up against his. They made the air heavy and smothering.

She felt his lips on her neck and his fingers underneath her skirt along the edge of her knickers.

"Wait… wait," she breathed.

She was forgetting something.

It was important.

"We're not supposed to—the rules."

But Draco began to undress her.

"I'm already breaking a rule," he said quietly undoing her buttons. "One that's been enforced my entire life. What makes you think I'm going to listen to your rules?"

"We don't want to get carried away," she protested. "What about—Draco!"

He'd pushed her back onto the floor when she tried to sit up. Her chest cold and exposed.

"This isn't a scheduled class, you don't get to tell me what hours your legs are open because as far as I'm concerned there are no rules, and if there were, you wouldn't be the one making them."

She was about to scream bloody murder at him for implying that her legs were open to him at all when he dipped his head to take her nipple between his teeth and she gasped. It pebbled in his mouth, his tongue swirling softly around it. His fingers worked deftly to remove her knickers. She pulled him up to kiss him and bit down on his lip hard as she felt his fingers teasing her sex. They both moaned. Hermione threw her head back when his thumb pressed against her clit with deliberate pressure.

" _Draco._ "

When he finally slid his fingers into her, he asked with his lips at her ear, "Isn't this so much better?"

She nodded eagerly, raising her hips to meet his hand.

His lips left her to travel down her body.

He kissed the inside of her thigh.

"I could lick your sweet cunt for days."

She swallowed breathlessly; allowing herself to be consumed.

* * *

Later, sated and lying in his arms, Hermione made it clear that if he ever hurt anyone again, she'd leave him. There was only so much she could bear.

"I understand," he said.

Then she gave him two options—confess to Dumbledore and ask him for help or tell her of his plans. He refused to do either. It was the moment she realized that if she wanted to protect him, she'd have to do so without his knowledge.

"If anything were to happen to you, I'd never forgive myself," she whispered into the dark. "I'd never forgive you either."

Rolling onto her other side Hermione burrowed closer to the wizard who so easily seduced and manipulated her.

Peacefully asleep, he looked to be an angel.


	33. Old Grudges

It was a clear bright afternoon; a fleeting glimpse of spring, a season not due for some time. Narcissa was sitting in the sunroom by the large ornate windows sipping her hot tea. She stared out at the water fountain, to the manicured gardens surrounding it and to the maze beyond, till her gaze reached the periphery of the woods at a far distance. She rose slowly from her chair. A figure had appeared among the trees, moving toward the Malfoy gardens, growing in size as it neared. When she could finally discern who it was she sat back down.

It had been some months since Narcissa had seen him.

As she watched him walk around the water fountain she couldn't help but notice how much he'd aged, how even during his youth his eyes were bottomless pools of black as if to reach into his soul would mean to be swallowed. She reached a trembling hand to her cheek, touching her own face, wondering if he ever thought the same when he looked upon her.

"Hello, Narcissa."

"Severus."

She gestured for him to sit.

"Would you like anything, some tea perhaps—?"

He held his hand up, his words steady as he spoke.

"There is no need for such courtesies. You asked me to come and now I'm here. What is it you wanted to tell me?"

She shifted slightly in her seat, straightening out her robes. The truth was that there was no pressing reason for his presence. She'd written first to Draco, asking him how he was fairing during his sixth year at Hogwarts. She told him she loved and missed him. It was a letter like any other letter a parent sent their child. Except hers was void of the truth and filled with unspoken questions; questions she wanted answers to but never asked. Then, without understanding why, she'd picked up a second parchment and requested Severus to meet her at the Manor as soon as he was able to.

It had been irresponsible and treacherous of her.

"I only wanted to ask how things were coming along."

He pursed his lips in a rather ugly manner.

"Did I not say that if there was anything pressing I would contact you?'

Narcissa held his gaze and replied in an uncertain voice, "I only thought that…" There was nothing for her to say, no words to finish the thought. She could not say why she'd wanted him to come, did not know herself, nor wanted to.

An awkward silence hung in the air.

"I hear that the Dark Lord has become a frequent guest at Malfoy Manor," he said pointedly as if that were the reason.

With perfect composure, she placed the teacup on the saucer and gave a polite smile. "Yes, he visits quite often," she said while smoothing down her robes. Then she raised her eyes to meet his.

"You have not changed," whispered Severus with a profound expression on his face. "Not one bit."

"While you are here," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "You might as well tell me how my son is progressing."

"I fear I am losing him," he replied bluntly. "He does not listen to me as he once used to. The boy simply refuses to tell me anything."

He looked at her softly and continued to speak. "There was an incident—I could not risk putting it into writing—he tried to _remove_ the Dark Mark from his arm. He fell unconscious and spent some days in the Hospital Wing."

Narcissa raised a hand to her lips.

"Is he alright?" she asked fearfully.

Snape regarded her evenly. "Yes," he drawled. "He's fine, which is why I never told you. It was an amateur attempt, just like his attempt on Dumbledore's life, sloppy at best."

She was instantly relieved. Draco was alright. He was safe. Safe at Hogwarts.

"There is something Draco is hiding from me," he whispered with an urgency unlike him. "Yet I can't quite figure out what it is. Do you know?"

"No," she responded coolly. "It seems to me that he is simply being discreet."

Severus' black eyes narrowed. Despite the effortlessness of her lies, he, and only he seemed to know when she was being deceiving.

"Does it not bother you that your son so outwardly declared his defection by physically trying to cut out the Mark?"

Narcissa raised her chin. "My son did no such thing. It must be an unfortunate misunderstanding, an accident, _surely_ —"

"So, you know nothing?" he demanded, his eyes boring into hers. Placing the saucer on the side table near her chair she smiled and returned the stare.

"Try as you may, it's no use. Even the Dark Lord himself cannot read my mind."

He cast his gaze downwards.

"Shame on you Severus."

He reached for her hand.

"Cissa—"

"Don't," she threatened, recoiling her arm. "Do well to remember what I once told you. _You will never touch me again._ "

He frowned. "This is not the time for old grudges. Think of Draco, of Lucius—"

Without a moment of forethought, she drew back her hand and slapped him right across the face.

"I am always thinking of my family!" she spat. "Do not dare presume anything else matters to me!"

Narcissa was shaking.

Her hands moved to smooth down her robe again, trembling against her thigh as she did so. She dared not lift her eyes until things were quiet in her mind again.

"We were just children Cissa," he said with remorse.

And upon hearing those words her gaze snapped to his.

"The only three men I have ever loved have all become Death Eaters," she anguished. 'But you…"

She raised an accusing finger at him.

"You are the only one to have ever broken my heart."

Then in the next instant, she felt the lines on her face soften and her expression relaxed becoming impassive once more.

"Now do what you have vowed to do. Protect my son."

He stood and made to leave without another word. As he stepped out, the light winds gathered his robes, whipping them around his ankles.

Her fingers frantically caressed the bracelet around her wrist as she watched him walk into the distance and then disapparate.

For the first time, Narcissa wondered how different her life would have been if, in their youth, in this life, Severus had loved her and not Lily Evans.

* * *

The halls were always dark and eerie in the nights. Anthony Goldstein and Hermione had split up at the beginning of patrol. For the most part, patrolling was usually uneventful, barely anyone was roaming around the castle at night except for the occasional student sneaking out to meet a girl or a couple of first years mucking about. Otherwise, it seemed that the students of Hogwarts had taken Dumbledore's Start-of-Term speech to heart.

Just then she heard something. She turned, but the corridors were so dimly lit that she could only see a little ahead of her. If Draco jumped out at her again like he had a few nights ago, she swore she'd castrate him. His idea of a surprise was not at all amusing. What followed after though was definitely amusing. She bit back a smile as she resumed walking.

The last two weeks had been amazing. She felt like she'd been walking on clouds. Even her friends seemed to notice a change in her, one they couldn't quite pin down. Ginny had thought that perhaps she was doing something new with her hair while Ron complained about her being easily excitable these days. Harry on the hand had shrewdly discerned that it looked like she wasn't getting enough sleep. All these things were true. She was sleep-deprived, always on edge worried she'd be caught in a lie and her hair was in a chaotic state, even more so than usual, what with Draco always messing it up—

Hermione heard something again. Honestly, that wizard was really going to get it from her this time.

"Look it's not funny anymore," she said loudly.

Her voice carried like an echo and faded out.

There was no one there. Maybe Ron was right. She was definitely losing her marbles.

"Well, well, well…"

Hermione startled violently, a hand to her heart.

"If it isn't the little Mudblood herself."

"Nott!" she exclaimed trying to catch her breath. "You nearly frightened me to death. It's past curfew!"

Tilting his head to a side he scrutinized her.

"I was out looking for some fun," he intoned. "Blaise is with Pansy and well, Draco's always with Tracey, so…"

She frowned. He was?

"That's not really a valid excuse," she reprimanded. "Go back to your dormitory."

He stepped into her.

"Why should I, when I've just run into you?"

She backed away.

"Really," he leered. "I can't believe my luck."

By the look on his face, Hermione suspected that luck had anything to do with it. He had been waiting for her or following her.

"What do you mean?"

She watched as his dark eyes flashed at her. It was unnerving. Hermione tried to move past him but he stepped into her again and her back met cold stone.

"No one ever needs to know. I could just slither-in," he smirked leaning into her. "And slither out. I'd make it worth your while."

Her eyes grew wide.

" _Excuse me?_ "

"Don't play stupid. It doesn't suit you."

She chuckled hoping to disguise her uneasiness. "Sorry, I don't swing that way but I'm pretty sure if you keep going straight and take a left you can go fuck yourself."

His smile turned into an exaggerated pout. "So you'll make an exception for Draco but not for me?"

She gulped. No, he couldn't possibly know. Draco would never have told him. "I don't what you're talking about," she said evenly.

He was smirking again. "Don't put your eggs in one basket love. Why should he get to have all the fun? A witch like you deserves better and besides... whatever Draco knows he's learned from me."

Hermione's eyes searched his. "Funny, last time I checked I was just a Mudblood."

Theo placed his palms on either side of her head, effectively trapping her.

"In my dreams, you're both."

She scoffed. Her voice dripping with sarcasm she sneered, "I'm truly honored."

He hummed and she cringed at how his mannerisms were so much like Draco's.

"Didn't think you were the kind of witch who was happy screwing someone in secret. Especially not while they're off shagging someone else."

Hermione clenched her fists. She knew Nott was baiting her and it was hard not to bite.

"As I said, I have no idea what you're talking about, and neither am I interested in you. So, if you please—"

Theo suddenly kissed her. His lips firm against hers, his hands on her cheeks.

In the next instant, Hermione had shoved him off. She made a show of wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He gave a hollow laugh that ran down her spine like a cold chill. Distressed, she made to leave, her hand now wrapped around her wand.

He grabbed onto her arm but found himself at the end of her wand and she had half a mind to use it. Letting go, he raised his arms in surrender.

"Mark my words," he smirked. "You'll be begging me to take you when Draco's done playing. He always gets sick of his toys and I always treat them with better care."

Without another word she left, hurrying down the corridor and up to Gryffindor Tower. Prefect duties be damned.

Her heart was thudding violently replaying what had just happened.

Nott's words resonated far longer in her mind than the kiss did on her lips.

* * *

Draco had always found Herbology to be a little boring but Theo, to his surprise, had paired with Padma this time so he found himself with Tracey. The chit always managed to turn everything into a joke. Today's class was no different. He had started making it a point not to look at Hermione during classes but he couldn't help catching a glimpse of her every once in a while. He inwardly smiled. Little swot had already managed to splice the root and repot the plant. The only other person who seemed to excel was Longbottom, who Hermione was always paired with. Draco had noticed that, strangely enough, he was the best in Herbology.

Biting the inside of his cheek he fought the urge to message her on the coin. He knew it was too risky to do so right now but the more time he spent with her the more time he wanted to spend with her. Especially now. The last few days Hermione had seemed a bit distant. He assumed she was a little miffed for having bailed on her the last two nights but he had early morning Quidditch practice with Blaise and then regular practice in the evenings. He'd been beyond exhausted. Surely she understood that.

After Herbology, he walked to the Great Hall with Theo, Blaise, Tracey, and Pansy. Blaise was speaking animatedly about how Vaisey had nearly met with another bludger and how he'd almost fallen to his death trying to duck it. Tracey leaned into Draco and whispered something about Vaisey being a dud, but also a stud. He cringed and they both shared a secret laugh.

"Seriously," she chuckled. "I snogged him once. It was fantastic."

He opened his mouth to tell Tracey how he'd caught Vaisey wrapped so tightly around Susan Bones once when from the corner of his periphery he glimpsed a gaggle of Gryffindor's walk in. His eyes followed them to their table. Granger was there. His pulse jumped.

She was glaring daggers at him.

Why what had he done?

Hermione jumped up from her seat to leave.

Except no, she wasn't leaving. She was marching straight to the Slytherin table.

Draco frowned.

Just what the—

"I want a word with you."

It was Tracey who she spoke to and by the tone of her voice, it didn't sound like she wanted to talk at all.

"Get up."

All eyes were on Hermione.

Tracey, on the other hand, had the look of a deer caught in headlights. She looked at Draco and then to the others as if to verify that it wasn't them she was speaking to.

"Who–me?" she asked, a hand to her chest.

Hermione let out a sharp laugh as if Tracey had made a joke. Draco cringed at the harsh sound of it.

"Yes, _you_."

Potter and Weasley were walking over now too, looking just as confused as Tracey. Honestly, what the hell was she doing? He had to snap her out of whatever this was.

Draco stood slowly.

"Granger," he said quietly. "Be a good little Gryffindor and go back to your table."

Her eyes flashed with anger.

Then the next thing he knew she had launched herself at him, slapping and beating every inch of him repeatedly, punctuating each word with a blow. "You—foul—loathsome—evil—arsehole!"

"For fucksake!" he hissed, catching her wrists as her left hand smacked his cheek and her right almost caught his eye. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded to know. If she wanted to hurt him this was hardly the most efficient way to do so. She should just use her wand. Which is exactly what she did once he managed to throw her off. She cast a stupefy and he fell back knocking over Blaise who had at some point also stood up sensing the escalating situation.

She made to cast another spell but Weasley and Potter were holding her back.

"Hermione!" they both yelled in surprise.

"Blimey!" said Weasley, who was struggling to hold back her arm. "She's lost it!"

But Potter was staring at Draco as if this was all his doing and seemed torn between stopping her and letting her curse him.

The others had jumped up from their seats as well.

Tracey was at his side. "Are you okay?" she asked, rubbing his arm.

Hermione scoffed, a murderous look leveled at Tracey.

Professor Flitwick zipped in with a squeak.

Thank Merlin.

"Professor," said Tracey. "Hermione Granger just viciously attacked Draco."

"It's true," Theo chimed in.

Flitwick looked around flustered. "Well I never—that's detention for you Miss Granger!" he shrilled. "Honestly most unexpected behavior coming from you. I-I—that's ten house points from Gryffindor. Really, I—"

"This isn't over," Draco warned pointedly. To the crowd watching the strange spectacle unfold it sounded very much like a threat. But both he and Hermione knew what it really meant.

Hermione wrenched her arms free and stormed out of the Great Hall with Potter and Weasley rushing after her.

Jealousy was no excuse. He and Tracey were over. He'd made that perfectly clear. So what the hell had she been thinking?

Draco stewed in anger for the rest of the day. In fact, he was so incensed by her irresponsible behavior that when everyone had come to his side to ask if he was alright after being attacked by that barmy Granger, it wasn't difficult to fake his response.

"She's stark raving mad," he told them. "Out of her blooming mind."

He began dreaming up other things to scream at her, he'd threaten to end things, he'd accuse her of being one sandwich short of a picnic, a screw loose, an absolute curse.

 _I mean, what the bloody hell am I? Her punching bag?_

Maybe he'd hit her back a little.

Just a slight shove.

Or a smack.

A tight one.

Right on her sweet round arse.

He groaned burying his face in his hands.

His witch drove him insane.

* * *

They hadn't decided to meet but Hermione went to the Room of Requirement, all the same, expecting to find him there waiting for her. When she entered, he was pacing the small space like a lion in a cage. He pounced on her as soon as the door was shut.

"What the hell was that? Are you bloody off your rocker?"

She ignored him, taking off her jumper slowly. She couldn't tolerate him right now, couldn't tolerate that they were both still clothed, that Tracey's hand had been on his arm touching him and she knew Theodore Nott's words were poisoning her mind but there was no helping the spread of an infection.

"Answer me when I speak to you!"

Hermione grabbed him by the nape of his neck and drew him into a bruising kiss. Only she was allowed to do this. He returned it eagerly as if his anger came hand-in-hand with his lust for her. He pushed her onto the bed. They were grabbing at each other's clothes tearing them off. The memory of seeing the two almost kiss at the Three Broomsticks flashed before her eyes. She bit his lip suddenly furious with him for wanting to have kissed anyone other than her, even for a moment.

Draco flinched, wincing in pain.

"You're fucking mad," he huffed.

She looked up into his grey eyes and pressed the flat of her palm against his crotch.

He grunted, jerking.

"You love it," she whispered.

Her fingers moved to unzip his trousers, shaking with the knowledge of what she wanted to do. He was so hard for her he was practically panting, his hot breath mingling with hers. He hissed as she wrapped her palm around his hard length. It felt strange to hold it but his hooded gaze gave her courage, begged her to go on. She tried imitating what she'd watched him do, slightly wary of hurting him.

His forehead fell on hers, his jaw clenched.

" _Fuck_ ," he rasped, his fingers fisting the bedsheets. " _Yes_."

Captivated by the control she had over him she watched his features closely. How his eyes were dark pools, the strands of his blonde hair falling forward as he watched what she was doing. She let go of his erection to explore the rest of him with an open palm. She pulled him down into an open mouth kiss, feeling his soft wet tongue and the sticky heat between them. He growled against her mouth as she gently cupped his crotch. Hermione was beginning to understand that all she really had to do was touch him. She didn't know how much his reaction had to do with the fact that it was her rather than any girl and it made her crave validation.

"Do you love me?" she whispered.

His gaze consumed her. "You know I do."

Hermione blushed. "Say it," she commanded. "Say you love me."

"I love you," he shuddered.

Practically trembled.

Maybe because it sounded like he was telling her for the first time. He wasn't shouting it at her, the words weren't wrenched from his throat, they were soft and she wanted to hear them again and again. Draco gently took her hand and guided her back to his erection. They looked deeply into each other's eyes as he moved his hand over hers, silently showing her. He let her take control as she grew more confident in her movements. She varied the pressure and the movements desperately wanting to watch him fall apart, to give him what he always gave her. His arms began to shake. She noticed the tip was wet and compelled by her curiosity she brushed her thumb against it. He let out a deep groan. Her eyes caught his and she rubbed the slippery wet substance against the head of his penis. He bucked into her hand and groaned again. Hermione kissed him, bit him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, completely intoxicated by the way he seemed to be under her mercy. There was something so hypnotic about the way his body moved, his back muscles rippling every time he jerked into her hand. She watched as his paced quickened and a few moments later he fisted her hair with a muffled grunt, his body seizing. Her hand and stomach suddenly covered in warm fluid.

He fell on his back, alongside her, his eyes closed catching his breath. She turned to her side, his cum trailing down her skin. But she didn't mind. She felt amazing. He was like putty in her hands.

She began tracing his face, over and over again; the curve of his lips, the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows and temple.

It wasn't fair to be so pretty.

"I'm still angry with you," he murmured. "Don't think that doing _that_ means you're off the hook."

She bit back a smile. "But I was just being a _good little Gryffindor_."

He opened his eyes to look at her. "What is this? What's gotten into you?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation rolling onto her back. Without his body atop of hers, it was cold and her arms reflexively covered her bare chest. He sat up to cast a cleaning charm and then drew the covers over them both. She turned onto her side and shifted closer to him. It was strange how mentally she wanted to withdraw from him, from his knowing eyes and persistent questions and at the same time, she wanted to melt into him, to cocoon herself in his arms.

He didn't ask again but she knew he was waiting for an answer. She couldn't tell him about Nott's ambush. It would only hurt him, and possibly Nott himself would be hurt, maimed, maybe. The full truth, she'd already reasoned was out of the question, but she could give him half of it.

"You don't know how it feels to be invisible to you the whole day. To be no one. To have this part of you and nothing else. It's different for you, you're a boy. Small things like sitting next to you in class, holding hands, walking the halls together, it all counts. This is my first real relationship and I'm not even allowed to speak to you except behind closed doors. And then we do all of these intimate things and I worry if I'm making a terrible mistake being with you… I'm sorry. I just get so jealous of Tracey having what I'm denied."

Draco was quiet. His eyes to the ceiling.

"You are making a mistake," he said softly. "I'm probably the biggest mistake you make Hermione and you're probably the biggest mistake I ever make. I already know that and I'm making it just the same. This is the only way I know for us to be together and I'm desperate enough to take what I can get. It's a lot more than I ever thought possible so I'm okay with the pretending and waiting. You're worth it. I just… I didn't care to know or ask you if I was…"

She watched as he turned on his side. His eyes bore into hers.

"But I'm asking now…"

Her heart was racing as it dawned on her what he really wanted to know, what he wanted her to say. She'd never considered that maybe she needed to say it, that he was the type of boy who needed to hear the words as much as she did.

She smiled, tasting salt.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy."

His eyes danced over her face and then his mouth fell on hers in a scorching kiss, his hand buried in her hair and the other wrapped tightly around her neck.

Before kissing her again, he dragged in a shaky breath and whispered, "What took you so fucking long?"


	34. Serving Time With Severus

Hermione soon discovered that offering her heart to Draco Malfoy was to give him right to her always. Whenever he found the chance he'd brush his fingers against hers, slip his arms around her waist in dark alcoves, kiss her bare shoulder and sleep in the cradle of her neck after pleasuring her. There seemed to be no part of her he hadn't explored, no trace of skin he hadn't kissed and she wondered what kept him from fully taking her, or at least trying to. She'd heard it was something boys were after but Draco had never asked, not even when they found themselves both bare and naked, against each other. She had dreaded and anticipated it with equal measure. Hermione sometimes couldn't imagine losing her virginity to anyone else, but she wasn't entirely sure that when the time came she'd consent. Only because he'd taken over so much else already and if he took her virginity there'd be nothing left of her except the obvious things. Her habits, mannerisms, knowledge, and tastes; all minor details of her were still there; her utmost admiration for Victor Hugo's novel The Hunchback of Notre Dame, her lack of respect for divinations, her deep dislike of licorice wands... in fact, as a person she was more or less the same. She still raised her hand when she knew the answer to something, still studied tirelessly and no matter how much her friends tried to coerce interest, she still couldn't manage to care at all about Quidditch.

But her essence… the core of her was splitting.

He didn't even have to touch her.

A stolen glance.

A secret smile.

Anything could undo her.

Watching Lavender fawn all over Ron was so repulsive, she'd sworn she'd never find herself so completely consumed by another person. But so consumed was she, that nights spent in her own bed without him were sleepless and unkind.

Hermione was a little worried. She saw that she was slipping, that they both were. His madness was slowly but surely becoming hers, and she only wanted to grab at it savagely till it tore each other open. They were increasingly absent from their dormitories, unconsciously staring at each other during class, meeting each other for a handful of minutes in the library or whatever room they could find.

The distance was suddenly so apparent; a distance of reality rather than geography. Having to cross oceans would've been far easier. She knew no one could find out, that it wasn't safe, but she wanted everyone to know. That was probably the strangest thing of all, that she wanted so badly to tell Ginny, even Harry, and Ron. Tell them how head-over-heels in love she was, how happy, she even had the urge to brag to Lavender and Parvati that she was snogging Draco Malfoy whenever she got the chance, if only to see their stunned faces. She didn't care if the whole world knew.

Sometimes, she'd daydream of doing just that. She'd create scenarios in her head of how she would tell them. They'd be a little confused but then they'd be happy for her and maybe over time they could all be civil to one another.

But there was always a sharp fear which accompanied these daydreams. The idea of any of them ever playing out made her breath quicken and her palms sweat. Because deep down she was aware that things would never be that simple, not after everything his family had done to them.

And then just as she'd resign herself to never telling a soul, a crushing despair would settle over her as she imagined that the day would never come, that they were just a flame enclosed in shadow, waiting for the eventuality of being extinguished. People were going missing, countless murders had recently been reported and she knew not to ask Draco about how he planned to be free of Voldemort. Those were things he'd asked her not to question.

It was getting harder and harder to silence her concern and one evening she'd ventured into that particular forest feeling it was finally safe. His reaction had been cold and distant and she immediately felt lost under the canopy. Brightest witch of her age, she was aware he was emotionally manipulating her. She had a right to ask, to be worried. Believing she was being tactful, she'd asked him if he'd found what he wanted that night in the Chamber of Secrets. His response was a vague murmur and then he'd crossed his arms as if to close off any more impending questions.

"What was it?" she asked. "The thing you wanted."

He clenched his jaw and told her it wasn't any of her concern. They were both sullen afterward, barely sharing a word with each other. A few hours later in bed, he'd tried to kiss her. Hermione eluded him claiming she was tired.

Lying there next to him that night, her back turned, she grasped, that for the first time since she'd met Draco Malfoy did he finally have the capacity to truly hurt her. An insult was not required; a terse tone alone could cripple her. His displeasure with her hurt her the most. And wasn't that insane? She could only retaliate and hope that her unhappiness with him would pain him just as badly.

After what had seemed like hours—probably though, had only been minutes—he spoke.

"Do you know you have dimples on your lower back?"

She diligently ignored him, staring at the blank wall, her body lying as close to the edge as possible.

He continued speaking unfazed.

"I bet when your hair is wet it almost touches them."

 _Yes, almost._

Hermione felt him edge closer to speak in her ear as if what he had to say next was a secret.

"Every part of you is perfect," he whispered and his breath touched the shell of her ear. His hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her in to spoon him.

It was his apology.

Hermione's cheeks burned, her fingers moved to entwine with his and she turned her head slightly to offer her lips.

It was hers.

The entirety of her time with him, even that night, had felt like a dream.

* * *

It all began to come apart when to her dismay, Ron began spending all his free time with Hermione again. It was obvious he'd become wary of Lavender, and their relationship was more or less over except the coward hadn't actually told her as yet. He was even going out of his way to be extra kind and considerate to Hermione. And all this meant was that it was more and more difficult to excuse herself and say she was going somewhere without one of them wanting to tag along. Suffice it to say that the time she spent with Draco went from constant to hardly ever. He was irritated with Ron for following her around everywhere and by extension her. To top things off, Harry was suspicious and had started keeping a close eye on Draco's movements using the map.

The day before his birthday Ron confronted Lavender. Hermione hadn't been there to witness it but she heard it had been quite awful. Ron, however, was relieved. Harry and Ginny were thrilled. Draco was livid. In potions class, Ron had playfully tugged on one of her curls to get her attention. The next thing she knew his potion had inexplicably blown up in his face, singeing his red hair. Draco had looked at her with such betrayal that she couldn't help feel like she'd done something wrong. Harry muffled his laughter.

The next day she finally had a window of opportunity to see him. Harry, Ron, and Ginny were all busy with Quidditch practice and they'd made plans to meet.

Hermione walked up the stairs and took a sharp left down the third-floor corridor. She'd suggested it remembering the several abandoned classrooms. Memories from her first year filled her mind as she glimpsed the door where behind there once was a three-headed dog standing guard. She opened a different one and went in.

As soon as she entered the empty classroom he was attacking her lips, holding her roughly to him and pressing her against a desk. She broke the kiss to reproach him for ruining Ron's potion.

"I know that was you in class the other day."

"Be quiet," he warned and the way he said it felt frighteningly familiar. His hands fumbled to divest her of her robes. Unbuttoning her shirt, he cupped her breasts underneath her bra, catching her nipple between his fingers. He toyed with her pinching, touching, kissing her, till she was scarlet, and in a state of anticipation that was driving her wild.

How long had it been since he'd brought her to that blissful abyss?

 _Forever._

Then unexpectedly he stepped away, his back turned to her.

"Draco," she asked half-panting. "What's wrong?"

He turned back around, his expression blank.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I forgot I was meant to meet Theo."

Hermione bit her lip and pulled him back by his tie.

She hummed against his lips. "I'm sure you'll make up something to tell him."

He kissed her again, slow and hesitant.

She deepened it wrapping her arms around him only to feel his body stiffen and then he was pulling away again.

"Is this about Ron?" she asked. "Are you angry with me?"

His eyes snapped to hers. "No," he rushed out quickly. "I just—I really have to go."

Stunned Hermione watched as he swung his bag over his shoulder and made for the door without even waiting for her to button up. At the threshold, he stopped as if he'd forgotten something, spun around, walked back to her, pecked her on the forehead and left again.

Baffled she sort of stood there staring at the closed door trying to understand what had just happened.

Despite his abrupt departure she wasn't too put out. Just a few hours ago she'd received a note telling her to report to Professor Snape's office. She remembered her last essay had gone slightly over the advised parchment length and she had a distinct feeling that she was about to be reprimanded for it.

A short while later, after the sun had set, she found herself making her way down the stairs. The weather had warmed albeit slightly but you couldn't feel the difference in the dungeons, it was always cold. The door was left slightly open and she could see a sliver of Snape sitting in his chair. She still gave an obligatory knock.

"Come in," he drawled.

As she entered she saw a head of blonde hair. The girl turned and smiled.

"Luna!" she exclaimed. "What are you—"

"Sit down Miss Granger. This isn't a social club."

Hermione eyed Snape warily. He had yet to look up from his work. Clearing her throat, she explained how she had received a note saying she was to report to his office.

"Oh yes," he said. "It has only recently come to my attention that you attacked one of my students."

"This isn't about my essay?" she asked redundantly.

"No—although you should know that every time you exceed parchment length I deduct marks."

Her mouth fell open a little. "Since when?"

"Since always," he replied finally raising his head to look at her. "Sit down Granger and stop gaping at me like a floundering fish."

Hermione was red with anger. He'd been deducting marks—how many? She had to fight the urge to ask.

Gathering what tolerance she had she slowly took the seat next to Luna who was smiling softly, her eyes scanning the contents of the office with curiosity.

Professor Snape lowered his head once again and began scribbling.

"Sir," she began politely after a minute had passed. "I already sat detention with Professor Flitwick and—"

"While leniency suffices him, it does not suffice me. Attacking another student is a grave offense Miss Granger and I demand proper retribution."

Hermione pursed her lips embarrassed at her burst of angry jealousy that day. She caught Luna's eyes and the Ravenclaw gave a little shrug as if to say that sometimes these things just happened. Just then Professor Snape laid his quill to the side and sat up straight eyeing them both.

"Well, well, well…" he intoned bringing his hands to steeple. "What should I ever do with the two of you?"

Hermione gave Luna a quick glance wondering what offense she was serving time for.

"Let's keep things simple shall we?" he said standing.

They both watched as he made his way slowly around the large wooden desk, like two little girls observing the movements of a snake in the woods. His black eyes moved from one prisoner to the other, cold and calculating.

"You Miss Granger will write I shall not be an insufferable know-it-all—"

"I thought you said I'm here because I attacked Draco Malfoy."

"I know," he drawled, almost regretfully. "But one must really correct the most pressing issues first."

Hermione pursed her lips again as if it were the only thing reigning in her retort.

"And you Miss Lovegood will write, I shall not daydream in class."

"Oh, but I wasn't," she hummed. "I was staring intently at Theodore Nott."

Professor Snape held Luna's dreamy stare, a sneer of disgust marring his face. Hermione herself was staring at Luna trying to figure out how on earth someone like her would be interested in that slink.

"I do not care to hear your infantile fantasies, Miss Lovegood," he said sharply. "Now begin. I want a thousand lines."

" _A thousand_?" Hermione balked.

Professor Snape only had to narrow his eyes at her to succumb. She gave a sigh and began searching her bag for parchment, ink and a quill.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of their quills scratching hurriedly against the parchment. This would take her forever and her hand was already beginning to cramp.

Hermione's sleeve kept smudging the ink. With a huff of irritation, she put her quill down and began to roll up her sleeves. Her hand was stiff and she estimated she'd only written 132 lines. This was worse than the detention Harry spent with Professor Umbridge, it was pure torture! She glimpsed Luna's parchment to find neat cursive, so beautiful in fact that it reminded her of calligraphy but the way she was going she'd take hours to complete her lines—

"What was the nature of your quarrel with Malfoy?"

Hermione startled. "Sir?"

Professor Snape was gazing deeply into her eyes. His voice flat.

"Why did you attack Mister Malfoy?"

She had never thought to make an excuse. Not even Harry and Ron had ever asked details beyond their assumption that he'd deserved it. "He called me a Mudblood," she answered challengingly.

The lie, she thought was believable. He'd done it countless times before. It was easy for anyone to believe he'd somehow provoked her. Her answer, however, didn't have the intended effect. Professor Snape continued to stare at her, his face growing paler by the minute. Hermione licked her lips and drew her attention back to her parchment. She felt a headache coming on.

The room fell back into an uncomfortable silence.

A minute later Snape rose, his chair scraping against the ground.

They both looked up momentarily.

"Continue to write your lines. I'll return shortly."

Hermione waited a few moments after he left to speak. She wanted desperately to communicate to Luna how utterly abhorrent Theodore Nott was but found she had no patience that night to ease into the conversation. Her headache was worsening.

"Luna," she spoke quietly. "I didn't know you and Nott were together. How's that going?"

"Oh," she mumbled. "No, we're not. We're not even friends."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "Then why were you staring at him?"

"Well, I was looking for Pilpims. Sometimes they can wriggle in through the ear canal and—"

"Did you find any?" Interrupted Hermione who was unwilling to hear about any more of Luna's imaginary creatures.

She looked up as if trying to recall the memory. "No," she replied after a few moments. "I didn't."

Her expression fell as she continued to stare vacantly into space. Then the absent gaze locked onto Hermione and stirred awake.

"How is Draco?"

She rolled her eyes. "He's fine. Honestly, I don't see what the fuss is all about. I only stunned him."

"Oh yes," she smiled dreamily. "You have most definitely stunned him."

Hermione frowned at her disapprovingly. She knew what Luna was suggesting and wanted to firmly quash any conversation leading to Draco Malfoy. Neither did she want to lie nor admit to her friend that she was, in fact, right about the fairy dust, and hopelessly in love with him.

She began to pick up her quill when all of a sudden a thought entered her mind. Her head turned slowly to face the girl who had already returned to writing.

"Luna," she said. "Did you tell Nott I was in love with Draco?"

Hermione watched as she stopped mid cursive, her quill poised to continue. Her eyes squinted thoughtfully as if she herself wasn't sure.

"Oh yes," she hummed. "I may have."

Her stomach fell, but her dread was quickly overshadowed by anger.

"I can't believe you! Have you no sense—?"

"I was only trying to explain about the fairies—"

"No wonder they call you Looney Lovegood!"

Hermione gave a little gasp. The words had spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"That's quite cruel," said Luna sadly. "I think Draco Malfoy is rubbing off on you."

"I am truly sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I was just—I'm sorry, I can't seem to control my temper these days—things are just so complicated and I—I don't think you're mad I just really wish you hadn't told Nott anything. He's not a good person and... I'm sorry..." She had such a bad headache coming on.

"It's okay," she sighed with a small smile. "I guess you're right, I am a little looney. It's probably why Theodore doesn't want to kiss me anymore."

"He kissed you?" she asked in surprise. "When?"

"Before he called me the moon."

"I mean—wait, he called you the moon?"

"Yes… do you think I'm like the moon Hermione?"

She was a little taken aback by everything and was trying to approximate how long after he'd kissed Luna, had he kissed her. Or had he kissed her and then kissed Luna? Her eyelids fell shut and her fingers rubbed at her temples trying to subdue the throbbing in her head.

"Maybe, yes, perhaps," she said. "I suppose—your name, in Latin it means moon and…"

Hermione had opened her eyes to find Luna watching her intently, her features pale and forlorn against the light, her light hair draping over her shoulders falling to her waist, and for a sheer moment when she looked into those protuberant keen eyes, she was a little like the moon.

But instead, Hermione replied, "You deserve far better than Theodore Nott and I've been a terrible friend."

A twinkle lit up her eyes. "I'd very much like to be friends," she grinned.

"We are," assured Hermione. "You have a lot of friends Luna. Sometimes we're just awful and forget to look outside ourselves."

With that, they both turned back to their parchments. The last thing they needed was for Professor Snape to return and find that they'd been speaking.

Around her three hundredth line, Luna asked, "Has Draco ever called you the moon?"

Hermione smiled to herself as she clenched and unclenched her stiff hand. "Draco Malfoy has called me many things" she laughed. "But he has never called me the moon."

* * *

Severus Snape could not find the patience to keep his composure. He could not wait until his students had completed their detention. Things were falling apart before him and he had to stop it at once. As he walked the short distance between his office and the Slytherin dormitories he could still not believe what he knew to be true. Never in his long list of speculations had he ever imagined that the answer he'd been seeking would be solved by Hermione Granger. He had lifted his eyes for only an instant when Miss Granger had rolled her sleeves up. He would never forget it. It was he who had accompanied Lucius all those years ago to Laurel & Moons. He remembered the bracelet as clear as day. He was, after all, the one who had first noticed it and suggested it to his friend. It was in his fair opinion the most beautiful piece. Lucius thought it would suit Narcissa's delicate manner. Severus had agreed with a tight smile. Seeing the identical bracelet on Hermione Granger's wrist had paralyzed him. He had stared at it to check that it was indeed the same and not a cheap duplicate. But it was almost impossible to fake such fine workmanship.

Without a moment's reflection on the matter, he'd caught her attention and asked why she had raised her wand at Draco. Now that he really thought about it, she'd never done so before when he'd insulted her. It was usually Potter or Weasley in a skirmish. And then without consciously meaning to, he'd looked into her mind and what he saw chilled him to the bone.

The wall before him was dividing. He stepped into the Slytherin common room and his appearance had the effect of putting an abrupt end to a party. The lively chatter stopped and all eyes turned to him. Pansy Parkinson was curled up comfortably in Blaise Zabini's lap and upon seeing him she stood a little abashed.

"Professor," she smiled nervously.

"Where is Mister Malfoy?"

It was Mister Zabini who replied. "He's in bed, sir."

"Go get him."

He waited a few moments until Draco appeared looking rather annoyed. Severus knew not to cause a scene before everyone.

"I have some correspondence from your mother," he said pointedly. "Follow me."

Draco obeyed without a word. As soon as they passed the first empty classroom, he grabbed Draco by the arm and dragged him in.

"What is it?" he demanded, his face pale. "What's happened?"

Severus cast a silencing charm. "Nothing," he answered. "She's fine."

The panic written on the boy's face morphed immediately into a scowl. "If this is another one of your attempts to find out what my plan is—"

"By plan are you referring to your attempts to seduce and bed Hermione Granger?"

A fraction of a second passed between the two.

"Excuse me?" he clipped. "I must've heard incorrectly, Sir."

Severus stepped into Draco his eyes almost level with his. "You are so much like your mother, so very good at hiding things… except from me."

"I have no clue as to—"

"I've already seen the entire sordid affair in her mind, so don't waste your breath lying to me."

At that point, Draco looked at his feet and released a heavy sigh. A smile began to tug at the corner of his lips and Severus could not imagine what he found so amusing at this very moment.

"She's like an open book, isn't she?"

"So you admit it?" he asked, still unable to fathom the relationship.

Draco looked up with a malicious gleam in his eye as if a part of him had secretly been waiting, longing to claim his accomplishments with her. "With all due respect, _Professor_ ," he spat, savoring each word. "It's not an _attempt_ if I've already succeeded."

Severus grimaced at the blatant innuendo. It disconcerted him to hear it from Draco's mouth, to hear the smug pride echo behind his words.

Weighing what needed to be said carefully he warned him of what could happen, of what he needed to do.

"The Dark Lord does not forgive Blood traitors and you will be no exception. So end it and end it immediately or else—"

"Or else what?" sneered Draco. "You swore an oath to protect me so if any harm comes to me you'll pay for it."

"And what of her?" asked Severus thinking only that history could not be allowed to repeat itself.

His grey eyes snapped to his. A flood of calm seemed to wash over his features.

"If any one of them," he spoke slowly. "Including Father or Bella…or even you Uncle Severus… if anyone lays a hand on her, I will wrap my own around their throats and kill them."

Severus' eyes widened.

"Have you lost your mind boy?" he hissed feverishly. "You must end this."

"I refuse."

"Listen to me!" he snapped, an urgent panic taking over. "Your feelings are clouding your judgment. Don't you foresee the consequences—have you forgotten what you've been ordered to do?"

"I said I'll take care of Dumbledore and I will," he retorted sharply. "Why should you care who I—?"

Severus gripped the boy by his arms and jostled him violently. "BECAUSE HE WILL KILL HER!" he screamed in anguish. The image of Lily cold and dead flashed before his eyes and Severus did not notice he was trembling, a sheen of cold perspiration on his face.

Draco's eyes were wide looking at him as if he'd never seen him before.

The insolent boy wrenched his arm from his grasp and drew up straight. "He won't," he claimed with an air of certainty. "I won't let anything happen to her."

Severus took one last long look at Draco and an overwhelming sentiment of disgust came over him because when he now looked at him, he could only see the same naivety, the same unyielding love that left no room for reasoning. But what sickened him were not these things though. It was the frightening resolve, a quiet certainty Lucius had once possessed, that the wind would eventually blow in whichever direction he needed. His love for a Muggle-born had in no way at all humbled Draco, if anything it had increased his arrogance tenfold. He was now like any other mortal man whose love is reciprocated; walking among clouds as though a God, showing only a modicum of humility around his woman.

"I have made the Unbreakable Vow to protect you," whispered Severus. "But I cannot save you from yourself."


	35. Warning Signs

Ginny Weasley found it impossible to navigate the Hogwarts library. The place was like a labyrinth and she was sure that the books weren't the only things enchanted. She could swear the shelf of Herbology books was here the last time she'd looked but as she turned right she came to a dead end. Groaning Ginny retraced her steps. She should have never agreed to fetch Neville his stupid book. Who the bloody hell wanted to read about dragon-dung composting anyway? As she was about to give up she came across a familiar row.

 _Thank Merlin_ , she thought. At last, she had finally managed to find the right shelf. As she searched, she mentally cursed Madam Pince for her nonsensical shelving method. It was like the old cow picked the most complex system so that no one could find a bloody thing. After what felt like forever skimming the shelves she found it. Relieved she pulled it out and as she did so she saw a big mane of curly hair. A smile lit her face as she saw Hermione sitting some distance away with her back turned. Ginny began walking through the maze down the few rows to her table, but when it came into view again she was gone. Looking around, she thought she caught another glimpse of her conspicuous hair disappearing into a stack of isles. She smiled to herself with baffling wonder. Considering Hermione already had four books on the table, how many more could her friend possibly need? It took Ginny a few moments to find her again browsing a shelf. Peering through the books a shock of blonde hair caught her attention. Malfoy. She watched as he turned toward Hermione to stand behind her. He took the book from her hand and slid it back into place.

Ginny reached for her wand. It seemed like one Bat-Bogey Hex wasn't enough to teach him a lesson.

Then something happened that made Ginny stop dead in her tracks and hide behind a shelf. Malfoy slid his hands around Hermione's waist to rest on her stomach and she was smiling. He whispered something in her ear. Whatever he said made the smile widen and she laughed. Then his head dipped to kiss her neck. He was nuzzling her and Ginny watched dumbfounded, as one of Draco's hands dropped down to her thigh and under her skirt. Ginny tore herself away from the shelf and rushed out of the library so fast that she almost left with the books still in her hand. Madam Pince called out to her and accused her of trying to steal them. She was so flustered, she practically threw them to her without a word and ran out. She kept on till she had reached the Gryffindor Common Room her mind spiraling.

She entered so abruptly and out of breath that everyone stopped to look at her.

"Where's my book then?" asked a voice.

Her attention snapped to Neville whom she hadn't seen sitting on the armchair.

"Oh," she said catching her breath. "I… I couldn't find it."

He simply shrugged and thanked her for trying.

A hand was on her shoulder.

"Gin, what's wrong?" demanded Ron worriedly.

Harry was next to him with the same look of concern on his face.

"I was… I was in the library... looking for Neville's book and…" Her eyes darted between them. "I almost forgot to check my book out and Madam Pince screamed at me."

They both looked at each other with deep-set frowns.

Harry stepped toward her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You sure you're alright?" he asked.

Unable to voice her lie she simply nodded. She gave a nervous smile and excused herself to get ready for bed. Almost two hours had passed when Hermione returned.

"Gin," she said surprised to see that someone was still up. "Sorry I thought everyone had gone to bed."

"No, I was waiting for you," replied Ginny as she rose from the sofa. "Where were you?"

Hermione shrugged. "Studying as usual."

She frowned. The lie, she noticed, came easily to her. She spoke smoothly and without hesitation.

"Do you want to head to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" asked Hermione. "I thought we could—"

"Is there something going on between you and Malfoy?

She watched as Hermione flushed a brick red. Ginny supposed that she wasn't a good liar after all, as long as you caught her off guard.

"No," she scoffed. "What makes you—"

"I saw you two in the library."

Hermione stood speechless, growing redder by the minute.

After a few moments, she spoke. "We were just—"

"Declaring your undying love for each other?"

Hermione barked a humorless laugh. "That's… _absurd_."

"You're right, it is, yet, still, here we are. What the bloody hell is going on?"

Her friend was having a difficult time looking at her.

"Nothing, he was just—"

"Please don't lie to me again."

At that point, she began to look around nervously toward the stairs leading to the dormitories.

"I really can't talk about this here," she whispered.

Ginny took her by the hand leading her into one of the bathrooms and locked the door.

"Talk. _Now_."

Hermione released a heavy sigh as if she was painfully extracting some unforgivable truth. "I don't know where to start."

"Well, the beginning would be good."

"Please," begged Hermione. "Please don't tell Harry and Ron. Promise me."

Ginny swore she wouldn't breathe a word of it to them and so Hermione began to relate to her what had happened since she first sat down to help Malfoy with his Transfiguration homework. She listened intently without once interrupting, but by the time Hermione had finished Ginny was deeply concerned. It was quite obvious by the way Hermione would pause and pick up that there were details being left out and Ginny was too afraid to ask fearing the answers would only upset her further. Ultimately she was left with a nasty feeling that things would end very badly for the two of them.

"So, he was the one who sent you the bracelet?"

Hermione nodded her fingers brushing the thin gold chain reverently. Ironically, Ginny had never agreed with Lavender that Krum had given her the bracelet but it shocked her to discover that it had been Malfoy all along. It shocked her, even more, to realize that she'd not taken the thing off once since she'd received it.

"I'm just worried that this will end badly," she found herself saying. "You can't keep this up. Harry and Ron will find out and when they do… what about Ron—the last time he found out you kissed someone he started dating Lavender Brown—"

"That's not fair, I didn't plan for this to happen. I've been waiting since fourth year for your brother to realize I'm the opposite sex and—"

"I know," said Ginny abruptly. "My brother's a fool and he's had plenty of chances to admit how he feels but you're secretly running around Hogwarts with Malfoy—the ferret himself— how do you expect him to react? And Harry— he'll flip, especially with his Malfoy-is-a-death-eater theory."

Hermione swallowed nervously, her arms came to wrap around her.

Sighing in exasperation she lamented, "I just don't know what to do anymore."

Ginny was reluctant to voice her true opinion; she didn't want to burst whatever bubble Hermione was obviously living in but she'd have to face the music eventually. Surely she had realized she couldn't hide this forever, she knew how everyone would react to their relationship. Malfoy had been making life difficult for all of them since they first started school. In fact, she couldn't recall one single memory where he wasn't making someone's life a living hell. His aunt had killed Sirius, his father had almost killed her and Harry... his family was poisonous.

"I think you should end things," she said softly. "Before anyone else finds out."

The look that came over her friend's face was hard and cold.

"No. Absolutely not."

"I'm just saying Harry won't be happy—"

"I wish your first reaction to this wasn't to think about how Harry would feel!" she snapped. "Don't my feelings count?"

Ginny was taken aback. She hadn't realized her affection for Harry was so ingrained in her that she'd immediately thought about how he was going to take the news.

"Besides," Hermione continued. "Harry won't find out. You promised not to say anything and we'll just have to be more careful."

She frowned. "So you're just going to keep lying to everyone?"

"Y-you know what his family is like. It's best no one knows right now."

She scoffed. "Hermione, why are you letting him treat you this way? If he won't stand up to his family, then what's the point of all this? And he's made you hide it from us, your friends, people who love you and care about you—"

"It's a lot more complicated than that."

Ginny was suddenly incensed. Who was this brainwashed girl and where was Hermione Granger?

"No, it's really not!" she spat losing her temper. "What? Is he afraid that his Death-Eater daddy will disown him, doesn't want to be a blood traitor like us Weasleys, so he just slags around with the Muggle-born in secret instead?"

She regretted her words immediately.

Hermione's eyes were glistening. She turned around quickly to unlock the door.

"Wait, I didn't mean it like that," Ginny winced trying to reach for her friend's arm but she snatched it away.

Whirling around with teary eyes she spat, "At least I'm not snogging Zabini and dating Dean Thomas while I'm clearly in love with someone else! I love Draco and have the courage to do it, which is more than I can say for you!" Then the door slammed shut, the sound of it ringing in her ears. Ginny slowly turned her head and saw a sad reflection of herself in the bathroom mirror. Pale and ashamed she leant against the cold stone wall feeling very much like a hypocrite. A few minutes later when she was getting into bed, it occurred to her that Malfoy must've been the one to tell Hermione about Blaise, which meant tomorrow she was going to track down and kill a certain Slytherin.

* * *

Her head was in his lap and she was reading Rita Skeeter's column in the Witch Weekly. Frankly, he found the entire publication to be full of drivel but he quite liked how she'd burst out in maniacal laughter whenever she read something funny.

"Look at this," snorted Pansy. "Rita's ripping apart Flint's mother again... well, if you're going to wear that, then you're asking for it."

She tilted her head back to look at him. "Never buy me anything in orange, is that clear?"

"Crystal," he grinned.

Pansy laughed flipping the magazine closed and tossing it with a dramatic flourish onto the grass. Daphne who was speaking with Tracey picked it and began leafing through.

"It is rather horrid," she murmured to Tracey as she flipped to the column. The girls began to devour the magazine like leftover food scraps.

"What's my favorite color?" challenged Pansy who had evidently grown bored of gossip.

Smirking cockily, he answered. "Trick question. It used to be emerald green but now it's midnight blue. What's mine?"

"Easy," she smiled, sitting up. "Violet. Always has been, always will be."

Her arms wrapped around his neck and she leaned in to kiss him.

"Honestly Pans, we're in the courtyard and everyone's looking."

She snickered and gave him a mischievous grin. "Let them look," she hummed. "They might learn a thing or two."

"Revolting," cut in Theo as he tossed an orange into the air and caught it again. "Seriously."

Blaise rolled his eyes. His friend had been on edge recently. He seemed to take offense to the slightest thing these days and hated any public displays of affection—which he had learned yesterday, included hand-holding. What perplexed him more was that Theo was actively avoiding Draco. Pansy had realized it too. It wasn't anything obvious but he'd find a reason for leaving the room whenever Draco was around and when they did speak it was stilted as if the conversation was forced. Considering how busy Draco had been lately it wasn't a difficult feat to achieve. In fact, Blaise didn't even think the blonde had even noticed his friend's odd behavior.

"Alright, alright," huffed Pansy. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. We have to go for divinations now anyway." She pecked him on the cheek before snatching the magazine from an unexpecting Daphne who whinged when she was told she could have it again after class. Blaise watched them leave and waited. Pansy turned to look at him and when she did he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

Theo made a noise of disapproval and began peeling his orange. "Why don't you start calling her Princess Pansy and feed her grapes or whatever the hell it is she likes you to do behind closed doors?"

"I thought you had realized by now that Pansy prefers to leave the door open," he chuckled stealing an orange wedge out of his hand.

Theo remained unamused.

"What the hell is with you these days? Take a joke and get off Pansy's case, it's starting to aggravate me."

He shrugged allowing Blaise to steal more of his fruit. "Nothing, I just don't see why you two have to snog every bloody minute of the day."

"Considering Draco was the one actually dating her, only he has the right to complain about anything we do and guess what? He doesn't care, so why the bloody hell do you?"

Theo pushed himself off the stone wall, one continuous curl of orange peel falling onto the grass. "I kissed Granger," he blurted.

Blaise began choking. "Say that again."

He watched his friend run a hand through his brown hair tousling it.

"Why? Of all the witches in Hogwarts, in all of Wizarding Britain, why would you kiss her?"

The response he received was a half-hearted shrug. "Was testing her."

"Testing—?" Blaise began to shake his head. "Actually you know what, I don't want to know. I don't want to know a single bloody thing—Merlin—he'll actually kill you."

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" spat Blaise.

"Oh," said Theo feigning ignorance. "Last time I checked with Draco, she was just a filthy Mudblood."

"Fuck off Nott, you know better than I do that he's been obsessed with the Gryffindor chit since... well since I can remember!"

Humming he said, "I don't recall..."

"Dragonshit! I don't know what sick game you're playing. You know perfectly well how he feels about her. Don't you think he has enough on his plate without you making a move on his girl?"

"Says the fucking pot to the kettle," he hissed. "I'm sorry, did you not know he was with Pansy when you took her from him?"

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "That was different."

" _How_?"

"I love Pansy."

"And?"

"And you don't give a toss about Granger! At this point, I'm beginning to wonder if you even care about Draco."

Theo whirled on him, enraged. "YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! Draco's like family and while you've been off playing tonsil-tennis with Pansy, I've been looking out for him! ME!"

Blaise looked around and saw that Theo's shouting had attracted some curious third years.

"Calm the fuck down," he hissed.

Gathering himself Theo waited a little while for them to pass.

"He's with her y'know," he said after they were out of earshot. "You'd have realized by now if you didn't have your head so far up your arse!"

His eyebrows furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Granger and Draco. That's why he's barely around—"

"We both know why he's barely around!"

"I'm telling you, they're together. I caught him with her at the Three Broomsticks over Christmas."

"What, like on a date?"

"Looked like it."

"I don't believe it—Granger wouldn't—she hates him."

"You could talk to him, get him to see reason."

"I'm not getting involved."

"Or maybe he'll listen to Pansy—"

Blaise gripped Theo's arm and drew him close. "Listen to me very carefully," he hissed. "I don't want Pansy anywhere near Draco while he has that thing on his arm. You don't say a word to her about any of this. Draco made his bed and now he has to lie in it. In fact, this conversation never happened."

Before Theo could say another word he gave him a rough shove and stormed off into the castle. He couldn't decide which was more ridiculous Theo kissing Granger or Granger liking Draco. Both were equally unbelievable. Shaking the entire episode out of his mind he thought he might as well make his way to class even if he was early. As he was climbing the stairs it began to move. Groaning he realized he'd have to walk all the way around but as he reached the landing Ginny Weasley was there with her arms crossed and a furious look in her eyes.

"Brilliant," he sighed. "This day just gets better and better."

Without a word, she began to walk down the corridor and into a room. Regretfully he followed. There was something about Ginny Weasley, other than her beauty, which always made him falter. As soon as the door closed behind them he expected her to start yelling. She was angry with him the last time too. In fact, there was usually always yelling followed by snogging. This time though, he'd make sure there were zero liplocks between them.

But when she began to speak there was a note of sadness in her voice.

"I knew never to trust a Slytherin. I asked you not to say anything and you told Malfoy, of all people, Blaise you promised—"

"I-I didn't."

Her face crumpled. "Is it a compulsion or a deliberate choice when you lie to me?"

A pang of crushing guilt overwhelmed him. "Look," he started nervously. "I'm not sure—I can't remember much but I might've let it slip—I was completely hammered. One night the two of us got sloshed and—I promise I haven't said anything to anyone else—wait, how do you know? Did he say something to you?"

"Never mind how I know," she clipped avoiding his gaze.

Blaise closed his eyes. It was a simple mathematical equation. He had a vague recollection of telling Draco about cheating on Pansy, but he knew his friend would never rat him out to a Weasley, purely on principle... and Ginny and Hermione were very close friends so... _Merlin_.

He opened his eyes and noticed she was halfway to the door.

"Gin, wait," he said clasping her arm. "I don't know what Draco's done to convince Granger to be with him but you have to get her away from him."

"I never said—"

"He's like a brother to me, but he will always be the son of Lucius Malfoy... do you understand?"

Her eyes danced across his face deciding whether or not to believe him.

"I already tried," she confessed softly.

"Try again," he deadpanned.

She gave a slow nod and then her eyes fell to where his hand gripped her. Releasing her quickly, he stepped back. The guilt was so consuming that he found he could barely look at her when he spoke.

"I love her," he said. "I want to be someone she deserves."

Ginny crossed her arms and cleared her throat. "Look—"

"I can't meet you again like this, even if it's just to talk, it's not fair to Pansy."

"Sure," she shrugged, flicking her hair back. "Whatever."

Before leaving he put his hand deep into his pocket and took out something small. "Here," he said holding it out to her.

Taking it she asked, "Why do you have my scrunchie?"

"You dropped it," he lied.

She eyed him curiously. "So it's a deliberate choice," she said softly as she gathered her hair and tied it into a ponytail.

He moved toward her, pausing to take one last close look at the freckles which sprinkled her face and then walked out.

* * *

The sun was hot and beaming down on them. Draco felt the soft sand beneath and the weight of Hermione atop of him. She was wearing a white cotton summer dress, laughing and holding his wrists down. Her hair cascaded framing her face, shading him from the light. He could hear the ocean. The water reached his toes.

"I'm protecting you from the sun so you don't get burned," she chuckled amusedly.

He grumbled about wanting to go for a swim.

"But it's high tide soon," she tsked. "And we still haven't built the sandcastle you promised me."

Then suddenly the light shifted becoming overcast. He told her they should leave, it was about to rain. There was a crack of thunder and it began to pour drenching her. Little droplets of water rolled down the tendrils of her hair and onto his face. Her thin dress stuck to her skin and they both looked up into the darkened sky. Hermione's gaze fell on him and she was smiling again. "A little rain never hurt anyone."

Another crack of thunder, this time followed by a sharp rip of the sky; a luminous rod of lightning, gone so fast Draco wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. There was something niggling at him.

"We should go," he said again.

"But you promised—"

A loud clap of thunder made them shudder. Then lightning began to crackle like fireworks rippling along the sky. The light was an ominous green. Within seconds he had her on her feet, his hand gripped like a vice around hers running. The sand turned into mud and he looked up and they were surrounded by thick forestry, only the rain still fell through the canopy of trees. He turned to look at Hermione but she was gone.

"Hermione?" he called out in every direction.

Panic took over him and he began to scream her name weaving around the trunks of trees. A movement caught his eye, a man wearing a mask. A sound heard on his left made his eyes dart around as he realized he was running amidst a storm of Death Eaters. Then a cry stopped him in his tracks. A woman's cry. He sprinted toward it and bounded out of the forest falling upon wet grass. Water could still be heard falling but it was no longer raining. Looking up he found himself near a large water fountain. Draco was home. He stood and found a peacock staring at him intently. His father's voice snapped him from his daze. He was standing outside by the door.

"Come quickly," he instructed. "Everyone's waiting."

Walking into the Manor, warmth enveloped him; candles floated everywhere filling the room with yellow light. A violinist was playing music in the corner and when he looked closer he saw it was Uncle Severus. An elf he didn't recognize apparated before him and offered to take his robes, another appeared with a crystal wineglass. His mother walked in gracefully and came to stand at his father's side.

"Honestly Draco, hold the glass by the stem. Have I taught you nothing?" she chided. Obediently he corrected his mistake and entered the drawing room.

It was a formal gathering of some sorts and everyone was dressed in black, speaking in whispers. Their eyes looking on him with cold malice. A polished mahogany casket was laid out in the center. A veiled woman was crying by it. Curious, he began to approach her but was stopped by Weasley who was dressed immaculately. Reaching out a hand he straightened Draco's robes. "Listen, mate, it's a difficult day for all of us, don't make it harder than it has to be—I'm taking the bird."

Frowning with confusion he asked, "What bird?"

"The peacock," he clarified.

"You want Arnold?"

"Name your price," winked Weasley. "The Missus wants him and you know better than I do how they are once they have their eyes set on something."

Draco's eyes snapped again to the crying woman. Ignoring Weasley, he brushed past him. Reaching out he placed a hand on her shoulder as her body wracked with sobs of grief. Upon his touch, she turned and lifted her veil. Pansy peered out at him from beneath, her expression full of fear.

"You shouldn't be here Draco." Placing a hand on the wood she whispered, "She'd want you to run."

A sense of dread seized him as he stared at the casket. His mouth went dry, he couldn't swallow. His veins were beginning to grow hot, a stinging sensation coursing through his body till it was burning him from the inside.

He gasped awake into the pitch dark.

* * *

Hermione stirred in bed. Turning over she heard Draco mumble something in his sleep. She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and stroked his cheek to quieten him. His skin had felt hot against her lips. Then suddenly he jolted up, startling her. He was gasping as though he couldn't breathe. She heard him stumble out of bed. The room flooded with light as she found her wand.

"Draco, what are you doing? What's wrong?" murmured Hermione sleepily.

"Nothing," he clipped continuing to search his pockets.

His eyes were half-closed and red, his eyelashes damp as though he'd been crying.

"Tell me," she pressed.

He was quiet for a while, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see his mouth working.

"It's the Mark," he grimaced. "It's burning again."

 _Again?_ "W-what should I do?" she stuttered getting out of bed.

All of a sudden Draco clasped his hand over his forearm, his eyes screwed shut.

"Bookshelf, bottom, the large tome."

"A book?" she exclaimed. "How will that—"

Draco's face twisted in pain, beads of sweat on his forehead as he collapsed back onto the bed. She sprang up and retrieved the tome.

"Open it," he winced. "Just open it."

Without entirely understanding what he wanted her to do, she opened the book onto a random page. The pages were cut to create a large square pocket, a housing for a stash of small vials containing a dark murky liquid. Tears were flowing freely down Draco's face as he cried out in agony, his body coiled tightly inward as though to stretch a limb would kill him. Raising his head, she gently coaxed his mouth open and poured the liquid down his throat. He coughed, some of it trickling down his chin.

The potion was beginning to take effect. His body became slack and his pupils dilated giving him a glazed look. She caressed and spoke to him in calming whispers till the potion rendered him unconscious. With a gentleness she didn't know she had she slowly turned his arm over. The Mark was red and swollen, glowing like the embers of a dying fire. Her eyes glanced back to the empty vials sitting in the hollowed-out tome. This had been going on for some time and she couldn't believe how well he'd hidden it from her. Chewing her lip, she thought about his abrupt exit the last time they tried to have some time alone with one another. It was yet another thing he'd kept a secret, and to her, it was the darkest of them all. It was a stark reminder that even when they were alone together, Voldemort was always nearby and it was only a matter of time before he grew tired of waiting. Hot angry tears fell upon her own face. She hated Tom Riddle, hated him so completely and she couldn't say she'd ever felt such burning rage toward any one person. He tortured Harry this way, haunting him in his own mind and now he was beginning to do the same to Draco.

"It's okay," she whispered into the silence. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She pressed her lips to his temple and for the first time since she'd discovered she was a witch, she prayed.


	36. Deadline

Lying next to him Hermione had tried in vain to fall back asleep but her mind was restlessly working. She wondered how he'd got his hands on Nightshade. Remembering having read that the Ministry had banned the use of the plant extract due to its dangerous addictive properties she realized that neither Slughorn, Sprout or Pomfrey would have been keeping any in stock which meant that he'd most likely stolen it from Snape's private supply. She weaved in and out of semi-consciousness for a few hours until an idea came to her and roused her fully awake. As softly as she could she crept out of bed and went to the wall. Speaking under her breath, she removed the vanishing charm.

The landscape of the wall had changed. Clippings, images, vague sketches, they were placed more neatly, almost in some sort of order and while there'd been dozens of different colored threads running across one another, now there were only three. He'd removed things, she was sure because the entire map seemed to have shrunk as well and she remembered seeing an old picture of Regulus Black which was no longer there. She walked first to the right side of the wall where two of the threads met. The middle one was a dark green, the one above simple white. The white was the shortest and it ran from a single sketch to meet the green where they both ended. The light was very dim and she had to squint to see the image. Draco was no artist but it was clearly a body of water, a lake—the Great Lake—no, there were, she thinks badly drawn ducks. A park?... No.

 _There used to be a lake on our estate...it's all forest now._

She followed the white thread from Malfoy Manor to where it ended pinned to another hastily drawn sketch of a church—no, it was too large to be a church—maybe, a cathedral. Her brows furrowed unable to decipher what it meant. She touched the pin where the green and white thread both ended meeting together and followed the green backward as it ran over a simple drawing of a lightning bolt. Her mind immediately thought of Harry's scar but it couldn't have meant Harry, could it? Then she walked toward the left side of the wall where most of the clutter still was. A red string ran through everything and—

Her breath hitched. There were several newspaper clippings from the Daily Prophet.

 _James & Lily Potter Murdered. Attack at Godric's Hollow. The Boy Who Lived._

The red string—was it Harry? No... it went back further in time, before Harry was born, over dozens of other pictures and articles and clippings. A few, in particular, caught her attention from 1938.

 _Muggle-born Student Killed. Hogwarts Unsafe. Will Dumbledore Resign?_

The red was Voldemort's string. She looked to where it ran forward to meet where the green started. She took two large steps away from the wall to take the entirety of it in. It was all in chronological order like a timeline. The green was Draco, and it began on a single word.

 _Marked_.

It signified, she believed his Death-eater initiation.

The white she frowned in thought… who was that?

Of course, she sighed. The only true Malfoy resident currently at Malfoy Manor. His mother. Hermione touched where the green and white string met. He was going to meet his mother, maybe it wasn't a cathedral, maybe it was Hogwarts and she was meant to come here. It was safe in the castle after all. In the corner of the sketch, there was something scribbled in tiny scrawl which she hadn't seen before.

 _06/01_

A date?

 _Pk._

Pursing her lips she tried to think of what it could mean. There was a date, a place, a meeting. Her mind ran through abbreviations.

Hermione felt her stomach drop.

Portkey.

His mother wasn't coming here. How foolish of her. They couldn't hide at Hogwarts forever. He was going to use a Portkey to take them both somewhere. Whatever he had planned for Voldemort, he had never intended to stay to see it's consequences or to face the Order.

This was Draco's escape plan for him and his mother.

The air suddenly felt thin. It was hard to breathe. How long had he been planning to leave her without—

Draco stirred.

She quickly drew the vanishing charm over the wall with her wand before he turned over still half-asleep, stretching his arm out to her side of the bed to find it empty. Her absence always woke him.

Hermione wouldn't wait another time for this confrontation. "You lied to me, again," she whispered, coming to stand near the bed.

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I didn't lie—"

"An omission _is_ a lie," she cut in sharply.

He bowed his head looking down at the sheets. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Well that's rich," she scoffed. "You get to lie to me and seem gallant about doing it at the same time."

He remained quiet, his head bent and his lack of response infuriated her even further.

"You're taking nightshade Draco— _nightshade_ —and you're…" Leaving me. She folded her arms as if it was necessary for something other than her legs to hold her up.

He gave a deep sigh. "It's effective," he murmured.

"And addictive," she deadpanned.

"I have it under control. Things are going as planned."

Hermione froze, her blood practically boiling at those foul words he'd dared to utter. His plan—the secret one to run away and leave her—it was going as planned.

"You do not have it under control and I am sick to death of hearing you say that!"

She almost fell back as he suddenly jumped to his feet, shouting in reply. "And I'm sick to death of having this argument with you over and over again! What do I have to do to get you to shut the hell up!"

Hermione blamed it on a rush of blood to the head when she reeled her arm back and slapped him for the second time across his face; a red handprint adorned his pale cheek. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he slowly turned to face her. They stood looking at one another for a long time.

He was the first to break the silence.

"I'm sorry," he began softly, his fingers reaching for her. "I shouldn't have—"

"Don't touch me," she hissed batting his hand away.

The features on Draco's face hardened like stone. "What did you just say to me?" he demanded.

Her chest was rising and falling. Forgetting her bag she grabbed her robe which was draped over one of the armchairs and made to leave.

The door didn't open when she pulled on it.

A sick feeling pooled in the pit of her stomach. With what courage she could conjure she turned and found him with his wand in his hand. He'd cast a non-verbal lock on the door, a charm she herself couldn't manage without reciting the spell. Before she could even think to use her own wand to unlock it, he disarmed her.

Draco stepped forward. She stepped back and around the sofa to put something in between them because she knew what she had done. Her body began trembling as he took another step forward and her another step back. Despite having his wand, he didn't use it and it terrified Hermione to know that he wanted instead to use physical force to subdue her. Hermione tried to speak but her breath failed to give form to her words. The back of her legs hit the table and she startled letting her robe slip from her arm onto the floor. His eyes didn't leave hers as she side-stepped around the table. The bed was close behind her and while she'd thought it meant she could retrieve her wand which he'd caught and tucked under her pillow, she'd ended up exactly where she shouldn't be...

Trapped.

Hermione gave a sudden gasp as Draco lunged forward grabbing her by her hair. He yanked her head back. "Look me in the eye and say that again," he whispered in a deceptively soft voice. It wasn't a challenge, it was a warning and she was practically panting, her mind screaming at her to keep her mouth closed because she knew where it would end but there was still that part of her that couldn't help herself, that wanted to push him off the edge just to see how far they'd both fall.

Raising her chin defiantly, she enunciated each word clearly. "I said, don't—touch—me."

Draco moved so fast she was held down by her wrists under him within a matter of seconds. She wrestled against him, trying to raise her knee up into the side of his torso. He yanked her arms up right above her head so he could free one hand to push her leg down and use the other to hold both her wrists.

"Don't touch me!" she cried out thrashing from beneath and the more she resisted the more painful his grip became. With his free hand, struggling against her protestations, he tore at her clothes unable to remove them completely but enough for what he needed. She winced as he pinched her nipple and it pebbled. He caught her lip in between his teeth and bit till he almost drew blood. She whimpered into his mouth, the sound an echo between them. He ground his hips against hers and she felt the pulse of his erection. Tears stung her eyes as he kissed her fully, his palm leaving her breast to cradle her head. The first fell as she parted her lips to allow his tongue to meet hers. The second when he released his hold on her wrists, sliding a hand down her arm and along her torso. The third was accompanied by a sharp intake of breath as his fingers brushed the hairs covering her sex and flicked against her clit. Her hands which had been laying above her head on their own accord fisted his hair. His mouth began peppering kisses down her neck over her bare shoulders. He whispered in her ear how he'd do whatever he wanted to her and as she felt a familiar knot of pleasure beginning to writhe and twist, she whispered, over and over again, that she no longer loved him. His finger thrust into her and she loathed how her body was so accommodating, how easily he slipped in. Hermione suffered under his ministrations wishing her words meant something. She watched as he rose to his knees and began pulling her knickers down her thighs.

She helped him.

He crawled over her, his body trembling as much as hers.

And until then she hadn't realized how desperately she wanted to know what it would feel like to have him inside of her. To have him touch her in a way that was so permanent it couldn't be undone. Watching her face intently Draco pressed the head of him against her opening. She squeezed her eyes shut wincing with pain, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He stopped.

She opened her eyes.

"Look at me," he rasped.

She bit hard on her lip as he went deeper and when he'd finally buried himself entirely in her they both moaned. If she listened closely enough she could hear their hearts beating violently.

Looking down at her with something akin to wonder he confessed, "I wish I could hide in you this way forever."

Then she kissed him, a long deep caress showing him that he could, he didn't have to run. The wet sensation of her tongue must've stirred something in Draco because he started moving, slow and steady, his breath ragged struggling to control the sensations without being overwhelmed by them. Her name began falling from his lips like a prayer and she could tell he was fighting the impulse to move faster, deeper, to see how much he could press into her without breaking her.

Their bodies were covered in a thin film of sweat. Her fingers dug into his skin holding him close trying not to let it show that it hurt, that it felt like something was tearing. It lessened a little and soon she felt the rubbing of smooth friction, a building momentum, his muscles clenched beneath her soft palms until he released a low base moan collapsing on top of her like dead weight. After a few moments, he raised his eyes to meet hers and reached up tracing his thumb over her bottom lip. She closed her eyes at his touch. He loved her and she felt it so completely. He stayed like that inside her for what felt like a long while and when he moved to withdraw she wrapped her legs around him tighter.

"Wait," she said. Her eyes drifted over him for several moments, studying his features. She lifted her head to press a solitary kiss that lingered on her lips long after. As he eased himself off her, she let out a soft gasp. She didn't like the feeling at all; like a sense of being emptied out. They laid next to each other in silence, without uttering so much as a word about what they'd just done, their fingertips touching.

Hermione imagined that by now the sun was probably rising on the last Sunday of March and they'd have to return before the others woke.

"It's dawn," she told him, expecting him to get up.

Neither moved to leave.

They spent most of the day together, drifting in and out of sleep; pillow talk and languid kisses, promises of adventurous trips and exciting futures; incapable at that moment to care that their absence wouldn't go unnoticed. Just for a little while, without saying so, they agreed to forget the world outside the walls of their little room, to pretend like there were no secrets, no obstacles, only the whole wide world within reach of their fingers. Hermione wanted to pretend, now more than ever, since she'd discovered that their time together was due to expire on the first of June.


	37. Love & Other Poisons

Hermione stood frozen in front of the portrait as she tried to think of a good enough lie that could explain where she'd been for the last twelve hours. The Fat Lady looked her up and down with scrutiny. "Been out all night have you?" she asked with a knowing gleam in her eye.

"Abstinence," she replied ignoring the Fat Lady. The word stuck in her mouth.

As she walked into the common room she braced herself for the consequences of her actions. Part of her hoped no one would be there and she could sneak off to have a proper shower. She'd cast a cleaning charm on herself but could swear she still smelled of sex and Draco. No such luck, she thought as she heard shouts and yells. Upon walking in she found the place a ruckus, the boys were all there crowding around Harry and Ron playing a chess game. Neville was the only one who seemed to realize her sudden appearance.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Come quick, Seamus' has put 10 galleons on Harry beating Ron."

Harry and Ron looked up just then. "It's about time!" Harry grinned at her. "Look here, I think I might win."

Ron threw Hermione a quick glance growing red.

"Ron's about to lose his crown!" laughed Seamus with glee.

"This isn't a spectator sport y'know," Ron grumbled. "Everyone just back up so I can think."

The boys chuckled as they left the table, hovering nearby. She blinked dumbfounded.

"Where's Ginny then?" asked Dean suddenly.

Hermione's eyes met his. "Ginny?" she repeated.

His eyebrows creased in suspicion. "Weren't you with her all this time? ...Studying?"

"Oh, yes," she said as it dawned on her why no one had noticed her. "Ginny has more work to do, so…"

Dean's face relaxed. She'd been so preoccupied with being angry with Ginny that she hadn't noticed how badly things were going with her and Dean. By the look he'd given her, Dean probably suspected she was avoiding him or lying to him about her whereabouts.

Hermione stuck around long enough for Ron to call checkmate, grinning with triumph. Amid the uproar of cheers and booing, she snuck off to the showers and spent a good half hour delighting in the feeling of warm water. She decided she'd go to the library and find her friend to apologize. But she didn't need to because when she walked into her room to get her books, Ginny was sitting on the edge of her bed alone.

"Hey," she sniffed.

"Gin—"

"I just broke up with Dean."

Hermione turned and closed the door quietly. She walked to her bed and sat opposite Ginny trying to think of something to say.

"Is it because of what I said?" she asked instead. "I was upset Gin. I didn't mean—"

"You did."

She bowed her head feeling awful.

"But you were right," said Ginny quietly.

"I didn't want to be."

Wiping her eyes with her sleeve she asked, "Where were you?"

Hermione looked at her bed. The sheets were ruffled and a pillow to the side. Hadn't she left her bed made with the curtains draped yesterday morning?

"I tried to make it look slept in," said Ginny suddenly. "Said you'd already left to get some extra studying done."

She pursed her lips. Right.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Don't," she said with a shake of her head. "Don't thank me for lying to Harry and Ron."

An awkward silence followed.

"You were with him, weren't you?"

Hermione raised her eyes. "Yes, I was with Draco."

Ginny cringed. "It's weird to hear you say his name like that."

"It took me a while to get used to calling him by his first name, too," she said fidgeting with the sheets.

"No," sighed Ginny. "I mean, the way you say it, all soft and affectionate."

Hermione stood and began making her bed just to give her hands something to do.

"You were with him all night," she said. "Where are you meeting him?"

"I can't tell you," said Hermione softly flattening the creases of the covering.

"We used to tell each other everything."

Hermione turned, grasping a pillow tightly in her hands. "I slept with him," she blurted.

Ginny's eyes grew wide. "Hermione—I—how was it?"

She swallowed. "Painful… and frightening and… I feel guilty every time I'm with him but I can't think straight. My head is filled with him."

"Don't be angry with me for suggesting it but, is it possible that he, well, I was just thinking, the bracelet he gave you—"

"Don't bother," she huffed turning around to put the pillow away.

Ginny sighed in exasperation. "Hermione, it could be a spell, it could be manipulating you, your feelings—"

"It's not," she said crossing her arms. "I know it's not because I already checked."

"You—what?"

Blushing scarlet, she looked to the floor. "The first time we kissed he…he did something. Something bad that felt good."

"What did he do?" asked Ginny concerned.

"He…" Hermione covered her face with her hands. "I can't, I can't say it out loud, but I liked it and I was so ashamed of wanting him to do it again I-I checked the bracelet and it's a beautiful bracelet but that's all it is. A stupid, beautiful bracelet.

"It's me, Gin," she said fighting back tears. "It's all me."

Ginny stood and hugged Hermione tightly.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I should've been more understanding, especially, with me snogging Blaise Zabini and all... yuck."

Hermione gave a teary laugh and released Ginny. With a little sniff, she asked, "So you and Zabini, are you—"

"No," she clipped.

"Do you hate him again then?"

Ginny gave a sad smile. "Not as much as I'd like to."

Hermione chewed on her lip as something hit her. "Do you have feelings for Blaise?"

"No," she sighed. "I think it was just an attraction… lust. I care about him though. Is that possibly what you're feeling with Malfoy—lust, not love?"

Sitting down, Hermione gave the question some serious thought. What did she know about love? She was young and inexperienced, and he was her first real relationship. Hadn't she believed she loved Ron? Didn't she still love Ron, didn't she love Harry and Gin, and her parents? Weren't there so many different kinds of love? After some time she looked at her friend.

"I don't know what to call it, I just know that if one day I woke up and he wasn't there anymore, it'd feel like… like..." she paused, trying to pick the right words to translate the feeling.

"Like dying… He would be gone, and I would be too."

* * *

While waiting to see her had been difficult before, it was excruciatingly painful now. The last four days had gone by so slowly. He found himself unable to concentrate, constantly checking the time, taking several showers a day, either to extinguish the burning in his groins with cold water or to succumb to it. His mind would replay every minute detail; how he'd trapped her underneath him, how his fingers had dug into her skin and repressed the memory of losing her in the woods, how their tongues brushed against each other in an open mouth kiss and how when he'd finally thrust into her, he'd forgotten the nightmare entirely, filled to the brim, held to her between her trembling soft thighs.

He'd controlled himself until then, wanting very much to wait, the way he was meant to, till he was married. When they were physically intimate he would shut it out, hide it in a deep recess of his mind. But when she'd told him he couldn't touch her, he was overwhelmed by a violent urge to bury himself inside of her proving to her that he could and he would.

And in the instant before penetrating her, Draco learned something.

When you've spent years longing for someone you didn't even dare hope to touch and they're laid out in front of you the way she was, your entire being begins to shake, your heart demands to be released of its cage, your pupils dilate, your mouth salivates and your pulse falls to your fingertips, teaching you that it's a miracle that till now you've been so patient.

He was practicing that same patience now. The water was warm, the bath's surface covered in large peaks of white foam, steam rising up from it. She was drenched and her legs straddled him.

"This was such a good idea," she smiled.

He wore a look of smug satisfaction. "All my ideas are good ideas."

"Actually, I think you may have the worst," laughed Hermione as her hands wrapped tighter around his shoulders. She rubbed her nose against his teasingly.

"Name one," he pouted.

"Besides the obvious," she began. "What about the time you stood on Goyle's shoulders and pretended to be a Dementor?"

Draco grabbed a mountain of foam and rubbed it over her face. She burst into a fit of giggles as she wiped the soapy bubbles away.

"Got detention for it too," he frowned sullenly.

"Well it was a wicked thing to do," she admonished in a playful tone.

He smirked. "I have you in a bath, naked and straddling me. Maybe bullying you was a good idea after all."

She sighed her fingers drawing absent swirls along his right shoulder blade. He let his head rest against the edge of the bath. This was close to bliss.

"I've been wanting to ask you something," she mumbled.

 _Of course, she does_ , he sighed.

Without answering he raised his head from where it was resting waiting for her to continue.

In one quick breath, she asked, "Why do some purebloods hate Muggle-borns?"

The question caught Draco off guard and his smile slipped. It hadn't been anything he was expecting. He didn't like this topic at all.

"Because," he began with hesitation. "They don't see how someone born to two Muggle parents can somehow become a witch or wizard. They believe it's from stolen magic."

Hermione gave an unladylike snort and burst into laughter. "That's absurd!" she smiled. "Don't you think?"

Draco pursed his lips and found himself unable to look at her. Her laughter ebbed till the last of it bounced against the stone walls and faded into echo. "Don't you?" she asked a little more sharply.

It was a question he didn't want to answer, or at least honestly and yet he found himself doing just that.

"I-I don't know what to believe," he whispered, daring to meet her almond eyes. They were wide and looking at him incredulously. She slipped through his hands away from him.

"You think I've stolen someone's magic—?"

"It's not as clear cut as that," he argued.

"It's a yes or no question Draco."

Huffing at her simplification of it he answered, "then yes."

"So you're still prejudiced against Muggle-borns," she responded with an acidic tone.

Hermione's collar bones caved in and she crossed her arms over her chest as if she'd just realized how exposed she was. He could see if he didn't try to explain he'd lose her.

"No—I just—have you ever considered—ever thought that maybe… maybe the magic isn't yours, but it sought you instead, thought you more deserving of it? But maybe the wizard who was meant to have your magic is better off without it, or maybe the world is. Take wands, for instance, they choose us, so why not magic as well? It just doesn't make sense to me how there are squibs while Muggle children—"

"Why are you with me then?" she demanded bitterly, her chest rising and falling. "Aren't you worried I'll steal your magic too?"

The truth slipped past his lips without hesitation. "You can take whatever you want. I don't really care."

She scoffed. "Okay then," she said in a calculating tone. Reaching behind him she took his wand which lay on the edge of the bath behind his head. He didn't ask her what she was doing but merely watched.

Stroking the wood, she challenged. "You don't care if I snap your wand in half?"

Draco stared at his wand held in her fists. He remembered how he'd felt holding it for the first time. But the rush he felt that day at Ollivanders couldn't compare to any of his firsts with her. He remembered with clarity the first time he'd held her, the first time he'd kissed her and felt the warmth of her lips…. the smell of her, the sound, the taste, the feeling… always that feeling.

"I imagine," he said softly. "It'd feel like losing a limb."

"Exactly," she countered. "So don't pretend you don't care to lose it."

Draco released a heavy sigh. Pointedly he said, "You can learn to live without a limb Hermione…there are much worse things to lose."

A blush crept up her chest and burned brightly on her cheeks as her eyes danced over his face. He found it strange that after everything they'd done he still had the ability to do so.

Her voice breaking, she asked, "You'd really choose me over magic?"

"Yes."

" _Why_?"

He was having a difficult time putting into words how he felt beyond a declaration of love.

"Don't get me wrong, I love being a wizard, I can't imagine losing my magic. I wouldn't even know how to live as a Muggle, I think it'd be difficult and I'd hate it at first… maybe even hate you a little for it… but eventually…when I'm with you I feel… complete. It's… a different kind of magic."

Hermione wrapped her arms around him tightly and rested her head on his chest. "I still think you're wrong," she said, her words muffled. "About Muggle-borns."

He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. "Maybe," he conceded, resting his head back again. They held each other until the water grew cold. His eyelids were heavy.

"Come on," she said rousing him gently. "Let's get to bed before we catch a chill."

As she was getting out of the water he saw that at least he'd been right about one thing. Her wet hair almost reached the dimples on her lower back. Stepping out he grabbed his towel, shivering as he wrapped it around himself. Hermione smiled as she took another and began drying his hair.

"I swear, you're like a child sometimes," she giggled.

"Very rarely," he protested with a pout. They changed and left the Prefect's bathroom. For a moment he thought he saw Filch's cat running along the corridor but it ended up just being a shadow. She chastised him when they were inside.

"You have to come up with an alternative to nightshade. The long-term effects can be serious, it makes you loopy, hallucinate even," she said pointedly. "Not to mention the memory lapses."

Draco didn't want them to fight anymore, they didn't have time to fight. Climbing into bed he replied in a placating tone. "I've already asked Nix to bring me something, okay? I'm sorry, I should've told you."

She let out a heavy sigh, seeming to deflate. Getting into bed she said, "I have to tell you something. I didn't want to but..."

Shifting his head slightly he looked at her questioningly. Her expression grew pale as she began, stammering and stuttering. He could barely register what she was saying.

"…he cornered me. He… he was saying awful things—I tried to leave and then he… you don't understand—"

When he asked her to repeat everything verbatim she couldn't seem to without whispering the words. Speaking them seemed difficult for her. As he listened the further away he felt. He tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry. All he could manage to ask was why she hadn't told him earlier when it had happened.

"I'm sorry," she said with a pained expression. "I was afraid of how it would hurt you and…y-you believe me right?"

He gave her a single nod and wrapped his arms around her.

 _I believe you._

She'd made the right choice by telling him. It was important that he know these things so he could react accordingly. Everyone was an obstacle; Voldemort, his parents, their friends, and every Death Eater he knew would delight in hearing that a Malfoy was in love with a Mudblood.

He heard Hermione wince and held her a little tighter.

 _Nothing will come between us, I won't let them._

"Draco…"

He buried his nose in her neck and breathed in deeply.

 _Nothing_.

"Draco, I can't breathe."

He loosened his grip on her. "I didn't realize," he said apologetically.

She bit her lip staring at him intently as if by doing so she could read his thoughts.

"Promise me," she swallowed nervously. "You won't raise your wand to him."

Draco placed his hand over his heart and tilted his head to look at her. "I promise."

"Or your fists," she added quickly.

"Never," he mumbled. "That would be quite uncivilized."

Hermione seemed to release a breath and gave him a sad smile.

Encircling her in his arms again, his expression sobered. A heavy weight rested on him as he thought of his friend's betrayal.

"Talk to me," whispered Hermione, her fingers softening the creased lines along his forehead. "You can tell me anything."

"Before we came to Hogwarts, Theo wanted us to run away. He said we didn't need to go to school, that we were smart enough to learn magic on our own. He sulked for weeks after I refused to go… that summer Blaise, Pansy and I, we did everything to make him want to stay…they're the only real friends I have."

Hermione reached out and stroked his cheek, her thumb brushed against his skin.

Draco touched his face and felt wet on his fingers. He'd been careless and let a tear slip; he always was with her. His feelings exhausted him and he closed his eyes.

"You're tired," she whispered just then, as if she could, in fact, read his mind. "You should rest."

"I don't want to rest," he mumbled.

She let out a soft laugh and he could hear it expand in her chest. "But you're falling asleep on me."

Just a few minutes, he thought. Just a moment.

Her hands wove in his hair, gently running her fingers through.

No one could get to them in here.

They were safe.

Safe...

and sound...

A few moments later Draco's eyes opened slowly to pitch black. For a split second, he panicked jolting awake until he remembered falling asleep earlier. Hermione was on her side, breathing so quietly, he could barely hear her. His heart was racing and he waited patiently, taking slow deep breaths willing himself to go back to sleep. But he couldn't. He was painfully awake now and the longer he stared into the dark, the more he imagined the protruding cheekbones of Voldemort's face, the red snakelike eyes, the chalk-white skin which was so thin it appeared to be stretched across his skeleton, his bony fingers moving closer to wrap around his neck like tendrils. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, turning on his side to reach for Hermione. He pulled her close and she gave the smallest sigh of approval. Her body was warm and reassuring but its presence alone didn't make him feel safe.

He couldn't help but place his palm on her chest to feel the shallow rise and fall of her breaths.

"Hermione," he whispered nuzzling her ear. "Wake up."

She barely stirred so he gave her arm a little shake.

Groaning in protest she snuggled closer to him. "Is it time?" she mumbled still half-asleep.

"No," he breathed, his lips brushing hers. Then he kissed her softly and she sighed into his mouth.

It felt as if he was sleepwalking.

Moving his hand, he cradled her head and kissed her again. Their mouths were moving at an excruciatingly languid pace, and he felt her leg wrap around his. He deepened the kiss, his hand stroked her thigh, and then over her knickers drawing them down. Without a moment's pause, he began to remove her clothes; a slow undressing of each other, which was left to their sense of touch to accomplish. His chest pressed down on her breasts as he dipped down to kiss her. His lips began trailing kisses down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, and finally her breasts. He took her nipple in his mouth, much more gently than he had before. His fingers trailed down to her entrance, taking his time. Hermione gasped as his thumb pressed against her clit. He caught her mouth, his tongue massaging hers. His fingers slid into her with ease.

She was soaking; always wet for him.

He traveled down her body toward her sex, unhurried caresses touching her gently along the way, relishing in the feel of her, in every inch of soft creamy skin. He took so long that when he finally licked her there she let out such an agonized cry, it was as if he'd hurt her. Her hand fisted his hair, her pelvis following the movement of his mouth.

Little sighs fell from her lips.

Hermione pulled him up to her, her hand on his shoulder. He felt her part her legs a little as if inviting him in. And he realized then, that the first time she hadn't. The first time she'd merely looked at him as if their consummation was inevitable and to stop it from happening would be hopeless. Rather than resigning to it, she summoned him now with a whisper of his name.

He answered with hers, pushing in. Her wet walls enveloped him in a way it hadn't their first time, so much so that he shuddered with desire. Hermione raised her legs a little and he clenched his jaw as the movement drew him in deeper. She moaned and he felt her palms running over his chest. After a few moments, he felt he could breathe again and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. Draco knew he'd been selfish when he took her virginity but that was the way he was, even more so around her. If he could, he would've asked her to leave with him but he knew short of kidnapping her, she'd never leave her friends when they needed her. No matter how much she loved him, she'd never be that selfish.

He drew out a little and pressed into her again.

She gasped and clutched to him.

He thrust into her again, slow and deep. She was perfect and he wanted to hear those perfect little sounds she made when she climaxed. His fingers sought her clit and touched it gently. He kissed her trying to capture her moans, trying to find a rhythm, a rhythm to make her sing. Her body writhed beneath his, and he felt her fever. His cock was practically crying to go faster and it pained him to ignore the urge to pound her into the mattress, to satiate himself and forget her. She moaned into his ear and it was beautiful because deep down inside it drove him wild knowing only he could do this to her, only he could make her writhe and beg while taking her to pieces.

He bit her neck, suckling on it gently as his fingers touched her over and over again; he thrust into her and he smiled as she began raising her hips to meet his, panting, squirming. She was close but it was difficult to do it this way. Drawing himself up and sitting back, he wrapped her legs around him. Draco found it much easier for his hand to torment her clit and drive into her in this position. It was better than anything he'd felt before and the urge to go faster and harder was eating away at him with every stroke.

"God, Draco, please."

Merlin, he loved when she started praying.

He could hold out, he could do this, just a little longer.

Hermione's thighs clenched around him, her pelvis undulating and desperate.

Perfect, she was so fucking perfect.

And then he couldn't resist it anymore.

His fingers dug into her hips, the rhythm slipping as he moved faster. She let out a whimper of frustration and he found it again but he was struggling to keep it. A single drop of sweat ran down his forehead as he hung on with sheer willpower and then mercifully, she cried out, her muscles contracting around him. He'd never felt her orgasm around his cock before and it broke him. Driving into her with sheer abandon, she continued to moan until his own body trembled violently and he came inside of her.

Spent, he fell forward and felt her shiver, her muscles still pulsing, alive. They both gasped as he pulled out and moved to lie on his back. His body exhausted and worn, he was tired all over again.

"That was…" she said breathlessly. " _Fuck_."

He hummed in agreement, too dazed to form words.

She cursed again and he smiled to himself thinking it was probably the most he'd ever heard her swear. With that thought, he draped his leg over her and went back to sleep.

* * *

While the weather was still cold, a few rays of sunshine were peeking from behind fluffy clouds and a light wind fluttered Pansy's hair as they walked along the shops in Hogsmeade. She was wearing the earrings he'd bought her and she couldn't stop smiling. It was her birthday so they'd gone to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, an establishment he'd only patron on such a special day.

"Oh, could we go to Zonko's next and then maybe Honeydukes?"

"Your wish is my command," he said with a theatrical gesture. "Although I expect recompense on my own birthday."

She smiled with devilish glee. "Who says we have to wait for your birthday?" she winked.

Blaise laughed as they walked into Zonko's. It surprised him how easy it was to make Pansy happy. Draco had always made it look like such a task but maybe it was difficult to please someone when you were obsessed with another girl. He was in the middle of the thought when Pansy exclaimed, "A love potion!"

She took it from the shelf and opened it. "Is this even legal?"

"Apparently," he shrugged. "Those two Weasley twins have their own shop and I heard they sell it too."

Rolling her eyes, she put it back on the shelf. "Can't believe they have their own store! The Weasley's in business. That's the real joke!"

He exhaled, turning Pansy around to look at him. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she huffed.

"You only get mean when you're upset."

She huffed folding her arms. "I want this," she said looking around her.

He frowned. "A joke shop?"

"No, a future! I… I have no idea what I'm supposed to do after I leave Hogwarts."

Blaise smiled at her. "You can do whatever you want when you put your mind to it."

"I want to raise unicorns," she said firmly.

"Okay," he said with a tilt of his head. "Can you still see unicorns?"

"Of course I can!" she hissed.

"Even after we—"

"Yes!" she said blushing. "Where would you get an absurd idea like that?"

He grinned. "I don't know… what were we even talking about?"

She slapped him on the chest playfully.

"Right, okay you want to raise unicorns. I'm loving that idea."

"Really?" she said wide-eyed.

He nodded glancing around at the other bits and bobs on the shelf.

"Sure, I'd have to look into it but I'm fairly certain we could make it work."

"Really?" she repeated. "You'd help me?"

"Well we should probably travel for a little after we're married but settling down afterward seems like a good idea."

Blaise picked up a round sphere of some sort trying to figure out what it did. When he shook it, it began to snow over him, tiny little snowflake's falling on his face as he tilted his head back and laughed. "Pans, it's a snow globe!"

When she didn't reply he turned around. She was standing a few feet away looking at him a little like the time she'd seen Nearly Headless Nick take his head off.

"Pans, what is it?"

"Married?" she whispered. "We're getting married."

Blaise frowned. "Well, yes," he scoffed. "We're both purebloods, we're both from rich families, we've known each other our entire lives and you love me, right? I say that settles it, wouldn't you?"

Her mouth fell open and he wondered if he'd been too presumptuous.

"I'll buy you a ring," he said quickly. "Whichever one you want."

She pursed her lips. "Whichever?"

"Of course, anything."

Her lips parted breaking into a grin. "Could we have a big wedding?"

He nodded. "The grandest."

She was beaming and he felt at ease again. They wandered around the shop a little while longer looking at things while they spoke of their lives together after school. After they'd left the store and were walking to Honeydukes she stopped as if she'd just remembered something.

Looking at him with a sober expression she said, "Blaise, we have to have a property in Italy."

" _Italy_?" he asked taken aback by the random request. "Why there, how about—"

"Blaise!" she snapped. "Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Of course," he said in a soothing voice. "Whatever you want."

Her face relaxed and she was smiling again.

There. Making Pansy happy. It'd be easy.

The afternoon went by quickly and they returned to Hogwarts hand-in-hand. Blaise heard Theo laughing as they stepped inside the Slytherin common room. He and Draco were spread out on the couch.

"There you two are!" said Draco. "We were just about to have a drink. Care to join?"

Theo was holding his stomach, trying to catch his breath.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "It's my birthday you know," she huffed. "Not that you care or anything."

They both gave her a sly smile. "Our gifts," said Theo. "Along with Tracey and Daphne, are waiting in your room. They have gifts too."

Blaise braced himself as she squealed in delight and ran down to the girl's dormitory quickly.

"Look at her go," chuckled Theo.

Draco stood and went to pour Blaise a drink.

"I'm good," he said.

"Just one," his friend insisted. "A toast."

Why not, he thought. It's only mead.

He took the glass and raised it.

"To us," said Blaise with a cheeky grin.

Draco looked at them. "To my best friends."

"Cheers!"

Blaise took a gulp. The mead was quite fancy and it went down the throat a lot smoother than any firewhiskey he'd ever had.

"Brilliant stuff," he commented.

Draco smiled. "From my father's private collection."

Just as Blaise was about to take another sip Theo began coughing.

He laughed into his goblet. "Looks like his went down the wrong pipe," scoffed Blaise.

Draco beat his back to help. "Alright there, mate?"

Then suddenly he collapsed coughing even more violently, his hands around his throat as if he couldn't breathe. Blaise dropped his goblet the mead spilling everywhere. "Theo!" he said falling to his knees.

"Oh my," said Draco. "That's going to stain if we don't clean it."

He looked up. "Merlin! What should we do?"

Draco tutted. "You should really get him to Snape, he'll need a Bezoar."

Blaise felt the blood leave his face. Without thinking twice, he scooped Theo up into his arms and ran to Professor Snape's office.

"Professor! Professor!"

The door to Snape's office swept open. "Stop that infernal yelling—" His face fell upon seeing Theo's sickly pallor. "What's happened?"

"I… I think he's been poisoned."

"Quickly," said Snape. "Quickly."

He set Theo on his desk as the professor pulled open a drawer and retrieved a Bezoar. He opened Theo's jaw and placed it deep into his mouth, shutting it again. A few excruciating seconds passed before Theo's complexion began returning to normal; his eyes half-lidded and in a daze.

"The bastard," he wheezed. "Actually… tried… to kill me." Theo coughed a few more times and then fell unconscious.

Snape looked at Blaise. His beady black eyes locked on his, he asked slowly. "Who, pray tell, is Mister Nott speaking of?"

Blaise gulped. "I don't know sir."

"Very well then," he said evenly. "I will take Mister Nott to Madam Pomfrey."

As he left, he was trembling at what had just transpired in the last few minutes. He had the slightest inclination that the professor already knew it had been Draco and was only looking for confirmation. Blaise should've known. Draco hadn't touched a drink since he'd started Quidditch practices again. He should've known something was off. And the arrogance of it, to poison him in public with such an air of nonchalance. He stormed back into the common room and almost startled to see Draco lounging on the couch, Pansy and the other girls gathered on the rug as she showed everyone the presents she'd received for her birthday.

"Blaise!" she exclaimed. "Is Theo ok?"

Daphne chuckled. "He should really learn to hold his liquor."

"He's fine," clipped Blaise. "Draco—a word?"

"Now?" he asked. "But Pansy's showing me the robes you got her."

His eyes narrowed on the blonde and without asking a second time he slowly drew his wand.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "If you insist."

He walked behind him to their dormitory and locked the door.

"Did you just poison Theo in front of me?"

He hummed. "Maybe a little."

Blaise flinched. "Merlin Draco! He could've died!"

"Don't be dramatic," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I diluted it enough just so he'd become violently ill. The dose couldn't even kill him."

" _Have you gone mad?_ "

His friend sighed as if this was all just a misunderstanding. "Look it wasn't my first choice but I had to work around certain… _restrictions_. Besides, he forced my hand. Leave it alone, Blaise. This doesn't concern you."

"All because he kissed her?"

Draco's eyes narrowed on him. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I suggest you stay out of it, it's between me and Nott."

"And apparently Granger—don't look at me like I don't know what I'm talking about. I know enough. Besides, you did just poison your oldest friend for kissing her."

"He didn't just kiss her," hissed Draco, his eyes sharp and alive, looking completely unhinged. "Theo's been playing matchmaker. I spoke to Tracey the other day and she told me that he was the one who'd encouraged her to date me. He filled her head with lies about how I'd always thought she was attractive and smart!

"And do you know what he said to Hermione, do you, Blaise? It's disgusting the things he said! He's been playing us like little pieces on his bloody chessboard, trying to turn her against me!"

Suddenly he took a deep breath and straightened, drawing taller. He ran a hand through his hair and became calm once again. "Shall we send him a fruit basket?"

Blaise stared wide-eyed. Theo had been right. Things had spiraled out of control.

"You know Draco, I always thought if you ever got together with a witch-like that—I don't know—it would humble you, maybe make you a better bloke but…" Blaise hesitated.

"Go on," he sneered. "Don't be shy."

"It's just made you afraid."

"Come again?" he scoffed in disbelief. " _You think I'm scared of Nott?"_

Blaise sighed bracing himself to deliver the ugly truth.

"After all these years of loving her from afar, quietly watching, pretending, lying to yourself, to her, everyone—it's driven you bloody mad because all you can seem to think about is how terrified you are of losing her now that you finally have her—but you will lose her Draco."

"I won't!"

"YOU WILL!" he thundered. "I don't know how the hell you got Granger to be with you, but you will lose her. Either her loyalty to Potter will end it—and I hope that's the case, because if she chooses you over him—and this isn't some fucked up scheme where you've _imperiused_ the poor girl, and she actually loves you back—then I feel sorry for you mate, I feel sorry for the both of you... You're a Death Eater and a Malfoy. Flip a coin on which one gets her killed."

He looked to the floor, unable to stomach the expression on Draco's face. And then he made to leave because he had nothing left to say.

Except... Oh, wait.

He swiveled at the door, his wand raised and sent a powerful stunning spell toward Draco. Draco managed to bring up a shield and another second later he'd returned the favor sending Blaise against the door. He held his stomach feeling winded. When he looked up the blonde was standing above him, his hand held out offering to help him up.

"So about that fruit basket…"


	38. Confessions: Part I

Noon light filled the large room of the Hospital Wing and except for a slight sore throat, Theo was feeling rejuvenated and well-rested. Whatever Snape or Pomfrey had given him was a real pick-me-up. His only concern was that his stomach had been rumbling demanding to be fed, which was why he was grateful for the fruit basket someone had left him. He was contentedly peeling an orange when one of the large doors' to the infirmary began to open.

Luna's big doe-eyes peaked inside.

"Hello," she said shyly.

Theo wished he had drawn the curtain and been asleep, or that Draco could've at least done him the favor of killing him instead of having to endure this.

"Hi," he said awkwardly setting the half-peeled orange back into the basket.

"That's quite a nice fruit basket you have there," she smiled.

He shook his head in disbelief. Was she the one who had gotten him a fruit basket? The witch obviously had no sense.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

Luna shrugged, her finger tracing the weave of the wicker basket. "I came to check in on you. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he clipped. "Just grand."

"I didn't know you were such a big drinker," she frowned.

Theo rolled his eyes. So was that what everyone was saying? _Had a bit too much to drink is all. Can't hold his liquor that one._

"Look," he said sternly. "Think you ought to leave Luna."

She pouted and came to sit on the edge of his bed.

"You're not wanted here," he said bluntly. "Do you understand?"

"No," she sighed. "I don't understand anything. You're lying and I don't know why. You do want me here."

Theo bit his tongue from lashing out at her. He honestly hated to see her, hated that he couldn't seem to escape her, hated her for her existence. He began peeling his orange again hoping that if he didn't speak she'd eventually go. It seemed to work because after a few minutes of silence between them she stood and left. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and leaped up to pull the curtain closed. Settling back into bed he reclined and bit into his first orange slice savoring the citrusy juice. He was eating his second when he heard a movement behind the curtain.

 _Merlin_ , he thought with another roll of his eyes. _Had she come back?_

But before he could chastise her, a different voice came from behind the curtain.

"How sad," it chuckled. "Poor Lovegood. Doesn't even know how much of a pig you are."

Theo swiftly drew his wand and held it threateningly as the curtain parted to reveal a head of blonde hair.

"Come to finish the job?" spat Theo.

Draco smirked. "Well if I wanted to finish the job I'd just have put something in the fruit."

Theo's face went pale as he realized who'd left him the basket. He spat the orange out knowing it was in vain because he'd already swallowed some.

"Oh don't be daft," chided Draco. "It's my peace offering. We're even now."

"You poisoned me!"

The blonde's lips turned into a rueful frown. "You deserved it," he sneered without a trace of remorse. "You know you deserved it."

"You poisoned me— and all for a stupid witch— a Mudblood!"

His steely stare burned into Theo's and for a moment his arm wavered and then straightened, the tip of the wand inches from his friend's chest. "Let me make something clear. Hermione is _my_ Mudblood, _mine_ , and you… the things you said…" Draco faltered, his voice breaking. "You tried to take the girl I love and if you'd succeeded, it would've killed me so as far as I'm concerned you got off easy."

Theo slowly lowered his arm, his eyes softening. "I knew it," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I knew the moment I saw you two at the Three Broomsticks. At first, I laughed at the idea. It's not possible, I thought. She's too smart and level-headed for that. I mean, hell, I thought her and Weasley—"

"They're not together," said Draco abruptly.

He let out a hollow laugh. "Of course they're not," said Theo shaking his head. "How can they be when she's so clearly in love with you... A Malfoy always gets what he wants, after all... I should've known you'd never let it go."

Theo watched as Draco's jaw clenched and unclenched.

"Tell me mate… will she still want to be with you, after she finds out what you really are?"

Some fleeting expression flashed across Draco's face. If it had been anyone else, they'd have missed the slight knowing smile in his eyes and the straightening of his spine; proud and arrogant, a man who already had the answer.

Theo's mouth went dry as the truth dawned on him.

"You have no intention of completing the Dark Lord's mission, do you?"

Draco cleared his throat and looked to the fruit basket. "It's self-replenishing, did you know?"

Ignoring the comment, he hissed, "Don't jeopardize everything Draco. She's not worth your life!"

The blonde's calm demeanor faded, his eyes burning with an intensity Theo had never seen before and when he spoke it was with the hard determined quality of his father.

"I decide what she's worth, and there is no price I am unwilling to pay to have her."

Theo's heart sunk as he saw that nothing would dissuade him from the path he'd taken and before he could try a last attempt at talking sense into his friend, Draco had left.

"I'm sorry," whispered Theo at the receding figure.

There was nothing he could do now.

* * *

It was April and the weather was beginning to warm but today was particularly hot and the classroom was filled with the sticky humidity of potions brewing on all the tables. Draco hadn't been able to concentrate at all on his own potion, not when she'd taken off her robes and her white shirt was sticking to her back.

Sleeping with Hermione had been a mistake, he knew that now. But it was a brilliant mistake, one he wouldn't mind making again and again. Nevertheless, it had changed things between them; made it so much harder to imagine being without her, made it so much more awful for him to leave. Draco knew what it looked like, what people would say afterward. How he'd taken her virginity, shagged her and left her. The bad immoral pureblood Death Eater. He didn't care what anyone would think, he was past that now, past caring about anything other than being with her. But sex had definitely complicated things. His feelings and good intentions were getting lost in translation. Sex seemed to precede speaking and in fact, Draco realized that they barely spoke anymore. Everything was said with their bodies; a gesture, a sigh, a tremble. He could honestly say that it wasn't his fault alone, this new language. She'd had a hand in creating it.

Really, when he thought about it, she was the problem. She was too sexy, a tease, she pasted herself too close when they slept, smelled too heavenly, touched him too perfectly, screamed too wantonly.

And she let him. She allowed his advances. Welcomed them and he blamed her for doing so, for never saying no, for always wanting it.

He had to stop thinking about her and it was proving nearly impossible today, especially since they'd both agreed to take a break. Just one week to focus on other things; studies, quidditch, prefect duties. They couldn't let things slip any more than they already had. He'd been the one to suggest it and now he was kicking himself for ever trying to lead a balanced double life.

Draco wiped his forehead. He rarely ever perspired but it was so stifling in this bloody room.

"Mate," said Theo. "You alright?"

He nodded in reply. Maybe he was coming down with a fever.

"You look—"

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Bloody hot in here is all."

Theo gave a little shrug and went back to attending to his potion. Professor Slughorn was checking everyone's cauldrons and chatting animatedly, seemingly the only one unaffected by the heat. He'd stopped by Corner's and was boasting, as usual, rubbing his belly with an air of contentment. Draco had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"I met your great grandfather once, did you know?"

"No sir," said Corner distractedly, trying to balance the conversation and his potion's work.

Slughorn smiled. "Oh yes, he was involved in some scandal dating back to the third Goblin rebellion."

Corner looked surprised. "Oh?"

The professor squinted in thought. "When was that again, 1892 or..."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione's hand shoot out as if he'd asked the class a question.

"1894, sir."

The heat must've really gotten to Draco because before he could comprehend what he was doing he'd said, "Actually it was 1895."

Her eyes snapped to his. "No," she said primly. "It was December 17th, 1894 to be precise."

Draco was fuming as he heard Theo snicker on the table over. Weasley and Potter had their lips pursed biting back laughs. "The rebellion started in 1894 but continued for several months and the scandal he's speaking of is the Strait, which occurred in 1895, _so_ the more accurate answer is 1895."

Her eyes narrowed threateningly. "He didn't ask which year the scandal was, he asked when the third Goblin rebellion was—"

"Poppycock! That's a technicality and you know it!"

She folded her arms underneath her breasts. "Do I?" she asked raising an eyebrow. He was too distracted by her cleavage to make a retort. Her hair was up in a bun and a few stray hairs had escaped, some stuck on her neck. He thought about licking that neck.

Pursing her lips, she swiveled around to address Slughorn. "The _correct_ answer is 1894, isn't it sir?"

"No it isn't," huffed Draco abruptly. "But as usual Granger thinks she knows enough to teach the class."

She smiled tightly. The top button of her shirt was undone. "I know enough to teach you at the least."

He ran his tongue over his teeth. He imagined bringing her an apple and being told he was naughty for turning in subpar work. "Go on then," he swallowed. "Start bending over that desk."

Hermione flushed, and the only thing that stopped Draco from doing exactly that was the audience they had.

Professor Slughorn was clearing his throat. "Both answers are correct. Let's move on, shall we? Er— Mister Macmillan…"

Draco tuned out. He couldn't hear anything except his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. Silly witch thought she was smarter than him, always right, little miss perfect. Well, he'd show her who was right. He'd bend her over that desk and f—

There was a scream followed by gasps. The surface of Corner's table was suddenly on fire. Everyone, including Draco, backed away from the blaze. Professor Slughorn stepped in quickly trying to extinguish it but it was a relentless flame.

"Class dismissed," he said a little nervously. "Leave everything as it is and file out one by one please."

Draco grabbed his things, taking a quick glimpse at Hermione to make sure she was leaving. He didn't want her to get hurt by a stupid fire Corner had started.

A hand grabbed him by the arm in the corridor.

"What the hell did you do that for?" demanded Theo.

Draco was taken aback. "What?"

"It was you," he whispered. "You were staring over at Corner and then presto—fire."

He ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't me, it was Corner, stupid prat messed up his potion."

Theo was frowning.

"Look I'll see you later at dinner, I have to go."

He had a bone to pick with Hermione and he knew where she'd be during her free period.

Draco found himself face to face with the librarian sometime later. The severe-looking woman always gave him chills. He cleared his throat to make his presence known. She raised her eyes to meet his and adjusted her glasses, squinting at him as though he was a specimen under a great magnifying glass.

"Madam Pince," he smiled politely. "Someone seems to have stacked a whole row of books in the wrong order."

Her face fell, her bottom lip began to tremble and he thought for a moment she might cry. Arranging his face into a sympathetic expression he continued. "I thought I should bring it to your attention. It's the sixth isle. They've made an absolute mess of it."

"Depraved wretched children!" she exclaimed.

As she stormed off, Draco went to find his little swot.

* * *

Hermione was secretly glad for the fire. She was grateful to have been excused from class if it meant putting some distance between her and Draco at that moment. The more time she spent away from him the better. Their argument in potions had been… irresponsible. She'd caught the innuendo and prayed no one else had.

"Blimey, you think Corner would have more sense," said Ron as they walked down the corridor out of earshot.

Harry looked deep in thought. "I think it was Malfoy who started the fire," he said.

Ron who normally clucked his tongue whenever Harry brought Malfoy up was quiet. Hermione hadn't thought Draco started the fire. There was that little accident when he'd gotten jealous of Ron but what happened today was different. He didn't have a problem with Corner and—

"Did you see the way he was looking at Hermione?"

Her head snapped up. "What? Who?"

"Malfoy," said Ron. "And what do you think he meant by bend over the desk?"

She couldn't help it, she blushed brick red. "He meant to humiliate me of course," she said before Harry could reply. "Probably gotten bored of calling me a Mudblood."

Harry nodded. "He's started to stoop to new lows that Malfoy. Just ignore him."

Hermione was grateful to Harry for believing her so easily. In fact, anyone else who'd heard him had brushed off their argument thinking the same thing. That he'd taken a very inappropriate dig at her and that was it, but Ron seemed to be the only one who had seen the truth. Putting a hand on her shoulder he said, "Look, I know it sounds funny but I think he was flirting with you."

She stopped dead in her tracks. "Don't be ridiculous," she said in her most convincing voice.

"Yeah mate," chuckled Harry. "Malfoy's only called her a—well y'know what— a half dozen times. Probably just trying to get under our skin."

Ron frowned at the two of them. "I don't care how many times he's insulted you. Malfoy was looking at you like… like…"

"Like what?" she demanded. Because part of her wanted to know, wanted to hear it from someone else, wanted to see what they saw.

His cheeks and the tips of his ears were pink. "Like he really did want you to bend over that blooming desk and—well, I can't say the rest!"

Harry started laughing. Ron turned even redder and Hermione couldn't look anywhere but the floor.

"It's no joke," he flushed. "There are certain things blokes want and, it's difficult for a girl like you to understand—"

"A girl like me?" _What was that supposed to mean?_

Hermione looked to Harry to gauge his reaction but he was avoiding her gaze.

"Well, you know what I mean," said Ron casually. "You're not very experienced with this kind of thing like other girls and—"

"Other girls like who, Lavender Brown?"

"N-no," he stuttered. "I… look I just thought you should know so you don't… encourage him."

" _Encourage him_?"

"Ron, mate—"

"Well, arguing back like that. He might think..."

"Think what?" she asked.

He had gone quiet again.

"Nothing," he said after a moment. "Dunno what I was thinking. Malfoy's just being a git."

Ron's eyes rested on Hermione as though trying to figure something out.

Part of her was dying to describe in vivid detail just the things she was experienced in. She wanted to paint him a picture so he could eat his words but instead, she could only say, "Anyway, I'm going to go to the library and pretend that this conversation never happened."

She gave Harry one final look of reproach for not having stood up for her. Hermione understood he didn't like getting involved in their fights but there were times she really wished he'd call Ron out for being a prat. Honestly, who was he to tell her what she was experienced in and who she could encourage? Sometimes he was such a condescending arse.

She was seething by the time she got to the library and could barely concentrate on her work because her mind was playing on loop. What kind of girl was she? Was she the kind of girl to bend over a desk? Her skin fevered as she recalled the things she'd done in the past three months, in the last three weeks, the last time she'd been alone with him and her hands reflexively came up to cover her burning cheeks.

She was aware of how _physical_ the relationship had become despite telling herself she was going to take things slower. She'd forget as soon as she saw him. It was becoming a compulsion, a craving. God help her, she wanted him. She wanted Draco Malfoy, practically all the time.

For the first time in her life, Hermione considered that she may not be a good girl after all.

At that moment Draco walked past her table, giving her a pointed look as he walked down an aisle. Hermione stood to follow.

Perhaps, she thought, you couldn't be a good girl and also be a girl who wanted, very much, to do bad things.

Hermione turned a corner and lost sight of him. Walking forward she thought he might've gone further down and to the left but a moment later a hand grabbed her and she found herself pulled into another row, pinned against a shelf.

"I'm cross with you, Miss Granger."

"And I'm cross with you Mr. Malfoy," she whispered leaning in to kiss him.

Hermione abruptly pulled away. "You're really hot," she said caressing his cheek.

He gave her his trademark smirk.

"No," she tutted. "I mean you're burning up. You're not getting sick are you?"

"No, I just… Merlin, I miss you."

Hermione was learning quickly what that meant. "Let's go to the room," she suggested shyly.

"No," he rasped, his hands running down her arms. "Right here is good."

"Draco!" she chided playfully wondering with a stomach-churning jerk if he was joking or not.

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him she missed him too but it was muffled by a kiss. They'd been so good for five whole days. A kiss couldn't hurt and then she felt his lips on her neck and that was innocent enough. But she supposed that things began to become uncontrollable once he had her buttons undone. His fingers were traveling up her skirt.

"God, Draco, what if someone sees? Madam Pince—"

"Is currently re-shelving an entire aisle and I've put up a repelling charm."

Hermione knew that not long ago Ginny had caught them together in the library.

"Promise, they won't," he whispered reading her thoughts. "Just let me, Hermione."

She supposed this time they'd taken precautions, so she agreed. Here was good. Taking her wand she cast the contraceptive charm she'd learned after their first two times. Draco hadn't even given it a second thought. When she'd told him about learning the charm he'd shrugged and said, "If you think it's best." A statement which scared her because it seemed that he didn't consider her falling pregnant as a horrific mistake. In fact, he almost looked taken aback when she suggested it. She didn't want to consider what that could mean, so she chalked it up to him being a brat and a boy.

His hands worked frenziedly to remove her knickers from underneath her skirt and she was ashamed to have allowed what happened next.

She closed her eyes, her lip caught between her teeth as his fingers toyed with her.

"I love you," he said suddenly.

Her eyes fluttered open.

"You know that, right?"

"I know," she whispered, peppering his face with kisses.

A rush of urgency overwhelmed her and she found herself unbuttoning his trousers. She could feel his hard length beneath the fabric. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as she thought of him being in her again.

"Wait," he said softly. "I want to do it this way."

Before she could ask which way, he'd turned her around and made her bend down placing both her hands on the bookshelf. When she tried to lift herself up he pushed her back down again and without warning, he thrust into her.

Hermione gasped. No, they couldn't… this felt so wrong, but then he began to move in and out of with a slow calculated rhythm and she moaned every time he went deeper.

It was the most exhilarating and unnerving experience. She'd never felt so exposed as she did then, her heart beating furiously afraid of getting caught with her skirt up and Draco Malfoy shagging her from behind.

In this position, she felt like an animal, like they weren't making love like they were _fucking_ and it felt awful and fantastic at the same time.

God, she really was a very bad girl.

She adjusted herself a little, so her back was arched and then his hand slid around her stomach and his fingers found their way to her clit. She had to brace herself against the shelf. His head fell onto her shoulder, groaning.

She was on the edge of an orgasm when suddenly he was slowing down and she was losing that exquisite momentum. Her hips pushed back to try find the friction but he was holding her still.

"Draco," she protested wiggling her bum.

"Say it," he rasped into her ear.

Her mind was slow and foggy.

"Say it was 1895."

 _Arsehole._

She shook her head. "No." She wouldn't.

He drove in deep and she whimpered as she felt the flame of it again. He rubbed her clit and her inner walls squeezed around him trying to rekindle the fire.

"Say it."

Clenching her teeth, she replied again stiffly. "No."

Then he stopped and she bit her lip from crying out in frustration. It was the same repetitive torture and she wanted it to end. He would start slowly and as she was reaching the peak he'd slow again and again. She begged him not to stop. He flicked her clit and she moaned tightening around him. He groaned and she knew it was killing him to stop too.

"Say it."

"No!" she cried.

His hand cupped her breast, pulling her nipple taut and as he started driving into her. She let out a sigh of relief. He rewarded her with another flick and she thought she'd die from the mounting pressure. Then he was slowing and she thought she'd burst into tears if he didn't let her finish.

"1895!" she choked. "1895."

"Good girl," he smiled against her neck.

Pouting, she rasped, "Fuck you."

He laughed softly in her ear.

"You already are."

He started moving faster and she'd never been so grateful, so close to the edge of it that she came soon after; her back arching, her body trembling, releasing a broken cry.

Draco covered her mouth with his hand muffling her moans.

"Shush," he said sternly. "This is a library."

Her legs could barely hold her and as she was coming down, he followed. She heard him whisper something that came out like a muffled groan against her shoulder.

She couldn't be certain but she was sure she heard him call her Miss Granger.

* * *

"How do you spell 'belligerent'?" asked Ron, shaking his quill while staring at his parchment. "It can't be B U M—"

"No, it isn't," said Hermione, pulling Ron's essay toward her. "And 'augury' doesn't begin O — R — G either. What kind of quill are you using?"

"It's one of Fred and George's Spell-Check ones, but I think the charm must be wearing off."

"It must be," said Hermione, pointing at the title of his essay, "because we were asked how we'd deal with dementors, not 'Dug-bogs', and I don't remember you changing your name to 'Roonil Wazlib' either."

"Ah no!" said Ron, staring horror-struck at the parchment. "Don't tell me I'll have to write the whole thing out again!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Honestly_ , she thought, _Ron could be quite helpless sometimes._

"It's okay," she sighed. "We can fix it." Then she heard three words she'd been waiting to hear for a long time.

"I love you, Hermione."

Her eyes snapped to his as he sank back in his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily. She regarded him for a moment before turning back to his essay. What worried her most about her relationship with Draco—other than his safety of course—was how it would affect her relationship with Ron. She knew that he'd be furious, though technically, she'd done nothing wrong except for having lied and kept it a secret. And that alone left her with a pang of immense guilt and if she let it, it would consume her. Hermione chewed on her lip as she fixed his essay wondering if their friendship would ever need fixing too. Then something, which oddly enough had never occurred to her before, passed her mind like a dark shadow. It was most likely that Ron would never forgive her; not as a consequence of her blatant and repeated deceit, not as a consequence of losing her virginity, but for what he would perceive as her ultimate betrayal—having fallen in love with Draco Malfoy.

"There," she said handing his essay back. "It's done."

"Thanks a million," said Ron smiling at her. "Can I borrow your quill for the conclusion?"

She returned the smile but not his gaze. "Sure," she replied handing it to him. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and Ron scratching out one last paragraph on Dementors. Harry, who'd had his head buried in the Half-Blood Prince's notes finally came up for air, yawning when—

 _Crack._

Hermione let out a little yelp making Ron spill his ink all over his freshly completed essay.

"Kreacher!" exclaimed Harry.

The house-elf bowed low and addressed his own gnarled toes. "Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing, so Kreacher has come to give —"

 _Crack._

Dobby appeared alongside Kreacher, his tea-cozy hat askew. "Dobby has been helping too, Harry Potter!" he squeaked, casting Kreacher a resentful look. "And Kreacher ought to tell Dobby when he is coming to see Harry Potter so they can make their reports together!"

Hermione paled.

" _Reports_?" she parroted. "What reports? What's going on, Harry?"

"They've been following Malfoy for me," he replied.

"Night. and. day," croaked Kreacher narrowing his eyes at her knowingly.

"Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter!" said Dobby proudly, swaying where he stood.

A week? Oh. dear. God. Oh dear merciful God, a week. Hermione's dread was mounting.

"You should have slept Dobby, but has either of you found out anything?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pureblood," croaked Kreacher at once. "His features recall the fine bones of—"

"We don't need to hear about you being in love with Malfoy," said Harry frowning.

"Kreacher is not _in love_ with Master Malfoy, however the Mudbl—"

"Kreacher!" Hermione yelped. "That's enough of that!"

"Draco Malfoy is a bad, bad boy!" interrupted Dobby with a nervous squeak. He was looking past Harry at her, wringing his hands together. "A bad boy who-who…" Hermione's eyes went wide, silently begging Dobby not to say anything. She was brick red with mortification at the possibility of Dobby having witnessed or heard anything.

Dobby glanced back and forth from Harry to Hermione, with indecision. He held his head in his hands and began to whimper. He ran toward the fireplace, about to dive in. Hermione gave a gasp but Harry had caught him by his ankle just in time.

"Alright, enough," he scolded. "Tell me what you'll know."

Kreacher bowed again, looking furious, and then said, "Master Malfoy eats in the Great Hall, he sleeps in a dormitory in the dungeons, he attends his classes in a variety of —"

"Dobby, you tell me," said Harry, cutting across Kreacher. "Has he been going anywhere he shouldn't have?"

"Harry Potter, sir," squeaked Dobby, his great orb-like eyes looking apologetically at Hermione, "the Malfoy boy is breaking no rules that Dobby can discover, but… but he is very, very keen to avoid detection. He has been making regular visits to the seventh floor—"

"The Room of Requirement!" said Harry, smacking himself hard on the forehead. That's where he's been sneaking off to! That's where he's doing… whatever he's doing!"

God Harry, she cringed, he's been doing me, that's what he's been doing!

"Maybe the Marauders never knew the room was there," said Ron.

"Dobby, have you managed to get in to have a look at what Malfoy's doing?" said Harry eagerly.

The poor little elf opened his mouth to speak and Hermione gave him another pleading look. Dobby began to back away fearfully at the question as though he dared not speak the answer and before Hermione could think of what to do, Kreacher was pointing at her with a look of utter disdain.

"The Mudblood goes with him, Kreacher believes, to defile the Malfoy boy."

Hermione's pulse fell to her fingertips. She heard a ringing in her ears and thought surely this was a nightmare and she'd wake any moment now.

There was a deafening silence in the common room, the only sound, the crackling of the fire. If she closed her eyes she was back five minutes ago, correcting Ron's essay. Her heart still beating in her chest, not threatening to throw itself up on the floor.

Harry slowly turned to face her. "Hermione?" he asked, seemingly unsure of what he was asking exactly.

The wretched little elf still had his arm extended and pointing at her, accusingly. "You can put your arm down now Kreacher," she murmured defeated.

He averted his big, bloodshot eyes and croaked at the ceiling, "The Mudblood is speaking to Kreacher, Kreacher will pretend he cannot hear—"

Dobby began to make a high pitched wailing sound, crying ugly fat tears. "Dobby wanted to tell Harry Potter but Hermione Granger is a friend and—"

"I don't understand," said Harry ignoring both house-elves. "Are you helping Malfoy do something in the Room of Requirement?"

Hermione opened her mouth but nothing came out. This was a nightmare. She even went as far as closing her eyes hoping when she opened them again she'd be in her bed. They couldn't find out this way.

Ron was staring at Hermione, his arms folded with an indecipherable expression over his face. "No," he said his tone chillingly low. "I don't think that's what she's doing."

Oh God… Ron.

"Kreacher, Dobby," Harry spoke without looking at them. "Thank you, but you have to leave now."

Without another word, the two elves disapparated.

"Hermione," Harry's brows furrowed with concern. "What's Ron talking about, is Malfoy forcing you to do something for him?"

She was shaking her head furiously, unable to admit the truth, unable to lie.

"Tell him," ordered Ron quietly. "Tell him what you've been doing."

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. She shot Ron a remorseful look, unable to hold his gaze. Somehow she knew that between the two of them, Ron would be the first to figure it out. He'd only need a lie that didn't quite fit or to catch them looking at each other just once and he'd see it.

Her voice broke when she finally spoke. "I've been secretly meeting him in the Room of Requirement so we can… spend time together."

Harry smiled uncertainly. "Is this a joke?"

When neither Hermione nor Ron seemed to join his amusement, his face fell.

"Spend time together doing what?" he asked a little nervously. "Studying?"

Hermione didn't know what to say.

Ron was as still as a statue, his brows furrowed in concentration staring at the ground. Then she realized he was staring at her wrist, finally understanding who'd given her the bracelet. He really was much smarter than anyone gave him credit.

Without a word he got up from the couch and made his way to the boy's dormitory.

She wanted to stop him, say something but she couldn't muster the energy or the words to confront Ron. She knew things were complicated, that perhaps things with them would always be a little complicated. Harry didn't try to stop Ron from leaving because he was too busy waiting for her to answer his question.

"Hermione?"

She drew a deep breath, her eyes on the floor too ashamed to look him in the eye. "No, Harry… not to study."

There was another round of deafening silence and she wondered how many more of them would fill the rest of the night. She couldn't gather the courage she needed to look up.

"I don't understand," he said finally. "You don't even like each other. You _hate_ him—wait. Is this some Prefects thing?"

"No... we're involved."

Harry scoffed in disbelief. "So all this time I've been trying to figure out what he's been up to and you've been, what, sneaking off to snog him?"

Hermione looked up from the floor and she didn't know what it was but something about her expression must've given away the true extent of what they'd been doing because Harry was looking at her with wide eyes as if he'd never seen her before.

"I'm in love with him," she whispered as if it was all she needed to excuse the lying, the omissions, the deception.

Just then something seemed to have occurred to him.

"Oh," he sighed. "I think I know what this is— I'll kill him for this—I will." Then he began to approach her slowly, almost like a child that may flee at any minute. "It's ok, let's go see Professor Slughorn shall we?"

Her brows furrowed. "What, why?"

"Let's just go find him, alright?" he smiled gently reaching for her. "I think he'll know what to—"

"For God's sake Harry!" she said wrenching her arm from him. "It's not Amortentia!"

Just then Ron re-emerged. Both of their attention snapped to him as he walked steadily down the steps. It was very late at night but neither of them said anything as he left through the portrait. Hermione turned back to Harry.

"Harry, I can explain—"

He suddenly let out a curse and bounded up the stairs before she could finish. Hermione stared at the empty space where'd he been standing and wondered how she'd allowed this to happen. They'd both become a little careless but she'd never have guessed Harry to set his two house elves to spy on Draco. A minute later, he was running back down the steps.

"Harry," she sighed in relief as if his return meant all was forgiven.

"The Marauders map is gone," he panted. "I searched for it everywhere."

She hadn't taken it, at least, not this time. Sure, she'd hidden it once or twice but she'd always returned it or left it somewhere for him to find. Was he accusing her now of having taken it?

"So?" swallowed Hermione a little worried.

"Your boyfriend's on patrol tonight," Harry spat back disdainfully. "I heard Ron talking with Ernie, they switched."

Hermione blinked still not quite getting the point.

"My Invisibility Cloak's gone too," he said pointedly.

Hermione took off, running out of Gryffindor Tower and into the dark night.


	39. Confessions: Part II

Hermione took off, running out of Gryffindor Tower and into the dark night. Footsteps echoing in the corridor behind her told her that Harry was following.

"Wait," he said catching up to her. "We should split up. We'll find them faster that way."

She came to a halt looking around the darkened corridors. Pointing to the left she said, "You go that way and I'll go right."

Harry gave a quick nod. She grabbed onto his arm as he tried to leave. "You won't hurt him, will you?"

He jerked out of her grip. "Your concern for someone who broke my nose and left me on the Hogwarts train is really touching."

She cringed at Harry's acidic tone and murmured, "I'm sorry. He should never have done that but—"

"Save it!" he snapped. "I've been trying to tell you, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater— wait," he paused and his eyes widened. "Have you seen his arm? You-you spend time with him, surely you'd have seen it—"

Hermione paled under Harry's gaze. This was what she'd been dreading, it was the reason she hadn't trusted Ginny with the full truth even after she'd found out. Because the answer to Harry's question was a resounding yes and she couldn't bear the thought of them judging her. But she couldn't lie anymore.

"Harry…"

Nothing more was needed to be said. A somber expression drew over his face.

"How long?" he simply asked. "How long have you known?"

"Since before Christmas," she confessed, her own face crumpling.

"The necklace, Katie Bell—?"

Hermione nodded.

Harry looked heartbroken.

"How could you have been so selfish?"

Her voice was small and meek. "I wanted to protect him. I was scared."

" _Protect him?"_ scoffed Harry. "Is that what you're running off to do?"

"Yes."

He shook his head in disbelief. "I'm trying to protect my best friend from a Death Eater. Don't think I'm running off to save Malfoy for you."

Pursing her lips, she watched as Harry started off in the opposite direction. There was nothing she could say to him that would justify what she'd done. She only knew she hadn't planned it.

Without another moment to spare, she began making her way through the castle, calling out Draco's name— Filch and his cat be damned. But she couldn't find him anywhere and only began to become more and more anxious, worried that Harry would find them first and join Ron in whatever he was planning to do. Then something occurred to her.

Honestly, she was the stupidest witch ever!

With fumbling fingers, she grasped the coin attached to her bracelet and wrote a message.

* * *

Draco's hands were shaking, the parchment clutched tightly between his fingers. He paced the Astronomy Tower summoning enough courage to actually deliver it. He'd planned to send it by owl to the manor, for his mother to give to his father the next time she visited him in Azkaban, but there was no telling who could intercept it. Sure, he'd placed a charm so only he would be able to read it—to anyone else it'd look like a bunch of random drivel— but he didn't want to risk it falling into the wrong hands. He'd decided to give the letter to Nix instead and now that the moment had come to call the elf, he was considering destroying it altogether, so afraid was he, of its consequences.

It was a letter of confession and it was probably the most difficult thing he'd ever had to write.

Just one last time, he told himself, and then he'd send it.

He unfolded the creased parchment and began to read.

 _Father,_

 _I'm sorry for not writing sooner. I know it is difficult for you in there, which is why I haven't written… because I don't want to cause you any more distress and I know that what I tell you in this letter will grieve you._

 _Remember when I was eight, and we spent the summer traveling across Europe. It was during that phase when mother had a strange fondness for visiting muggle art museums. That's when you found the painting, the one of the muggle girl wearing an earring—a pearl I think. Well, you saw it and wanted it. It wasn't for sale, of course, but you insisted you have it. You even got into a row with mother when she said it'd be outrageous to hang a painting by a muggle artist in the manor. But you stole it and switched it with a duplicate. I thought it was very clever of you, father. I think I told you so, I can't recall exactly. But I do know that when we returned home after the holidays you hung that painting in your bedroom and it's been there ever since. Not even Voldemort's return has compelled you to take it down._

 _I will never forget what you told me, the strange way you spoke when I caught you staring at it one day. I said it looked boring—and it did, I thought it was quite pointless to have a painting that doesn't speak or move. But you said that you could swear she was looking at you, in a way, no one else ever had— "like she is some exquisite beauty, captured in a single moment, staring out at me as if there is nothing else worthy of her gaze."_

 _That's the way she looks at me._

 _You know of course, of whom I speak of, father._

 _If I could, I'd burn the Mark. I wish I never took it, but I understand now I never really had a choice._

 _If it means anything, I promise I have tried to hate her. I have tried for years but she is relentlessly remarkable._

 _Disinherit me, disown me, do what you must, but let me have her._

 _It is you, after all, from whom I learnt what beauty is and Hermione Granger is, if anything, the most beautiful girl I've ever known. I don't care about her blood, or her magic, or her muggle parents._

 _I am desperately in love with her._

 _Do not deny me this happiness._

 _Please father, please._

 _This girl has reduced me to begging, and I am not ashamed to do so, because I cannot live without her._

 _I will simply die._

Draco inhaled and exhaled deeply. The letter was so disgustingly honest and he couldn't bear to think of how hopeless and pitiful he sounded, but it was the closest thing to the truth. His words conveyed how utterly consumed he was by Hermione Granger and he could not escape them. He hadn't signed it, didn't dare to. Couldn't find the strength to write, your son, Draco Malfoy.

He was unworthy of the name. He wasn't even sure he wanted it anymore, or at least the conditions that came with it. He would find a way to be with her, if not now, then later. But still, his parents deserved the truth. It was the least he could do since he had failed so miserably to live up to their expectations. He'd disappointed his father in too many ways to count and his mother, well, she'd always wanted him to marry Pansy. He'd known that for many years, had even heard her discuss floral arrangements for the wedding with Mrs. Parkinson. This letter would change everything. He hadn't even told them about his breakup with—

He swiveled around, his wand drawn from his robes, as he was certain he'd heard footsteps. There was no one there and he thought that maybe it was just a student out past curfew.

Suddenly he felt a warm sensation against his chest. He'd put the coin on a long thin chain and started wearing it under his clothes.

 _Hermione._

"Expelliarmus!" a voice rang out. And Draco's wand flew out of his hand. He stared wide-eyed into the empty expanse but there was no one there. A second later he felt the crack of his jaw as something hard hit him, sending him staggering back. A curse escaped his mouth.

 _Potter and his bloody invisibility cloak._

But before he could recover he was restrained by a full body-bind curse and fell to the floor.

He was surprised when it was Weasley and not Potter who appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and was standing above him with a furious look on his face.

"Weasley, what the hell are you—?"

It was too late, he had already snatched the letter from his hand.

"Give that back!" yelled Draco, a stream of curses following as he watched in rage as the other boy looked at the parchment, his eyes greedy, his nostrils flaring and his face flush the color of his hair.

"That's a private letter, you have no right—!"

"It's for Hermione, isn't it?" he bit back.

Draco clenched his jaw.

Weasley knew.

He glared at the red-head, struggling against the ropes as his eyes skimmed the letter which he knew was indecipherable gibberish in his hands.

"You've charmed it so only she can read it," he commented after a moment.

Draco sneered. "Not as dimwitted as I thought you were Weasley."

He raised his wand and pointed it squarely at Draco's forehead. "What does it say?"

"None of your fucking business!"

Another blow was delivered, a kick to the side of his stomach.

Draco grimaced.

"What did you do to her?" he yelled. "Tell me!"

Wincing, his teeth clenched, Draco decided that since the cat was out of the bag, he may as well have some fun with it. Plus he needed a distraction. He smiled, as well as he could, considering the pain. "What haven't I done to her?" he laughed.

Weasley kicked him in the face, breaking his nose. A crack followed by blinding pain. He figured this was some karmic payback for getting Potter on the train.

"You sick bastard—"

"FINE!" he bellowed, blood gushing from his nose and into his mouth. "You want to know what happened?"

"TELL ME!"

He raised his head, his eyes watering, and looked him straight in the eye. "You had your chance and you blew it. That's what happened, you stupid fucking wanker!"

"It was the imperius wasn't it?" he demanded, ignoring Draco completely.

He grinned, baring his teeth. "No one performs that well under a curse," he chuckled. "And let me tell you, that girl can—"

He coughed, winded by another heavy blow.

"Shut up!" he heard. "Shut your fucking mouth!"

He was sure one of his ribs was cracked. Turning to his side, he wheezed, pretending to be in more pain than he actually was. Baiting Weasley had been easy, but managing to escape the ropes binding him had been difficult. Concentrating clearly on his intention he cried out, " _Accio_!"

The hawthorn wand flew into his hand and he immediately hit Weasley with a stunning curse. Weasley fell back hitting the wall as Draco stood, holding his side. It hurt, but pain had become relative to him. Voldemort's reminders were far more effective than any physical beating.

They held their wands pointed at each other.

"You had it so fucking easy," he spat with disgust. "All you had to do was wake up and she was there, _but no_ , what did you do? Nothing. You chose to snog Lavender-fucking-brown instead. You're pathetic—"

An angry burst of light hurled toward him and he deflected it with a twist of his wand.

"Draco! Ron!"

Their heads snapped toward the stairwell where Hermione's voice could be heard.

"Stop it, both of you—oh my God!" she gasped running toward him. "You're bleeding."

He winced as she raised her hand and touched his face.

"Hermione, get away from him!"

Standing in between them she turned toward Weasley.

"Put your wands down!"

"I will," said Draco warily; reluctant to take his eyes off Weasley for even a second. "As soon as he hands me back my letter."

Weasley grit his teeth, panting, his chest rising in waves of rage. "He's been tricking you, Hermione, probably written you a bunch of lies."

Draco moved around her and raised his wand to level it at Weasley.

"It's not for her, you idiot!"

"Oh," he chortled. "It's for your Death Eater father—you remember him, don't you Hermione— the one who tried to kill us at the Ministry?"

Hermione cringed. "Ron, just give it back."

"Or maybe it's for your mother."

Draco's arm was shaking trying to contain his rage. "Don't talk about my mother," he warned.

"You know her too Hermione, the one who always looks like she has something stuck up her—"

Many things happened at once. Draco cast a stunning spell at Weasley and as he did, he heard movement behind him. He turned and saw Potter with his wand raised, a spell leaving his lips.

" _Sectumsempra_!"

He fell backward gasping, his eyes squeezing tight as his face twisted in pain. His hand went to hold his side where Weasley had kicked him. And then he opened his eyes. He watched Hermione stagger backward and fall against the wall. Her eyes met his, they were round and white in shock.

Then blood began to flow from her like red ribbon.

He blinked.

"Hermione?"

She slumped to the floor.

There was ringing in his ears.

He winced as he crawled forward on his hands and knees, still holding his side.

She was gasping.

"Hermione?"

Someone was yelling.

Her lips trembled.

"Dra-co."

He looked down and his hands were covered in blood. It was everywhere pooling on the floor.

There were footsteps sounding up the stairs.

Voices.

He held her face in between his hands. Bloody handprints on her cheeks.

"Hermione?"

He tried to shake her awake.

There were hands on him; many hands. Pulling him away.

"HERMIONE!"

His vision was blurring, he couldn't see through the tears.

The air was thinning...

And then everything became dark.


	40. Confessions: Part III

There was a stinging sensation across her chest. She felt it before she woke; it was what pulled her from her unconscious state. Her eyes fluttered half-open and her fingers searched for the source of the pain. Underneath the tips, she felt raised skin. Deep cuts now raised scars. They were itching and she scratched at them.

"Don't you worry dear," said a voice which sounded far away. "Little more dittany and you'll be right as rain."

Another voice spoke on top of that and she tried focusing her vision to see who it was but the room began spinning. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her and a hand was easing her back down.

"Rest a while longer."

Madam Pomfrey. The voice belonged to Madam Pomfrey.

A groan escaped her. She was back in this God-forsaken hospital wing. Hermione closed her eyes allowing herself to fall unconscious again. It was better this way.

 _She was in a classroom watching him fold a paper crane. A tangle of limbs. She could hear someone's heartbeat. A feather drifted to the floor. Purple bruises on milky skin. Little yellow birds circling above her. His lips in between her breasts. She looked up and he was whispering something… her name._

Hermione opened her eyes with a jolt. Draco needed her. He was calling her. Where was he?

Her mind was foggy. The last thing she remembered was…

Grey eyes.

Had they given her something?... Maybe for the pain. The last time Draco was in here, they'd given him something.

She whispered his name.

Her fingers reached for the bracelet. Her wrist was bare, her own skin felt foreign.

"Where is it?" she croaked. "Where's my bracelet?"

Someone hushed her. "Miss Granger, please relax—"

They'd taken it.

She couldn't feel the quiet whisper of his magic near her pulse.

He was gone.

Just like that and he was gone.

There was another voice now.

Then another.

Hysterical and screaming.

Was it her?

It was so hard to understand.

Tears were streaming down her face. Salt on her lips.

Madam Pomfrey was standing over her suddenly.

"What's wrong with her?" someone asked.

Hermione felt exhausted.

She never heard the answer to the question.

Everything became quiet.

When she rose again, the sun was hanging low, warm yellow filling the room. She blinked and her vision cleared. Harry was there at her bedside, his head bowed.

"Hermione," sighed Ron appearing next to him. "Thank Merlin, I was so afraid."

Harry's head snapped up. His face blotchy, his eyes red. Taking a deep breath, she slowly raised herself up onto her elbows careful not to suffer another dizzy spell.

"Hey," she croaked, giving them a small smile.

An errant tear slid down Harry's face. "Hermione," he rasped. "I'm so sorry, I… I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear."

"It's okay," she whispered unable to think of anything else to say.

"Where's Draco?" she asked. And it felt like deja-vu. Maybe she'd asked them this before. She couldn't remember.

"He's fine," said Ron in a tight voice.

She sat up and leaned against the pillows. Her head felt heavy.

Ron moved to sit on the other side of her. "Madam Pomfrey said you'll be discharged tomorrow."

Hermione gave an imperceptible nod. "That's good."

They hadn't answered her question and she knew better than to ask again.

The bracelet was back on her wrist and she wasn't sure if she'd only imagined it was gone.

There was an uncomfortable drawn-out silence where none of them seemed to be able to speak. Growing increasingly uncomfortable, she asked how long she'd been in the infirmary.

"Not even a day," said Harry rubbing his face. "Snape, he—I guess with all the noise we made—and Macmillan woke Professor Sprout—

"Snape healed you," said Ron abruptly. "If he hadn't…"

Hermione sensing another awkward silence descending on them, asked quickly, "Where did you learn that spell?"

Ron looked to Harry with a stony expression.

Harry himself glanced away, avoiding both their gazes. "It was in the Half-blood prince's book, I promise I didn't know what it did when I cast it, I'd never—"

"I know," she deadpanned.

They fell into quiet once again and Hermione desperately wanted to be alone. She felt she already was.

"Hermione," started Harry in a small voice. "I—"

"How could you lie to us?" asked Ron suddenly.

"Ron, not now," snapped Harry.

"Then when?" he countered. "She lied to us, has been for the past—Merlin I don't even—"

"Since October… I told McGonagall I'd help Draco with his Transfiguration."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Why would you do that?"

She blushed at the truth. "It was an opportunity to speak to him, to understand…"

"Understand what?" cut Ron.

Hermione swallowed. "Him, why he… I wanted to solve the enigma that is Draco Malfoy. I was after the truth."

Harry's eyes flashed at her as if he'd stumbled upon some secret to her true intentions. "Were you trying to find proof that he was a Death Eater?"

"Yes, no, I—" she released a heavy sigh in defeat. "I suspected that he had feelings for me and I," she paused looking pointedly at Ron. " _I encouraged it_."

He was scowling and Harry seemed torn between wanting to know more and desperately wanting to cover his ears.

"Harry's right," said Ron crossing his arms. "Malfoy's up to something. Using you to get to him—"

"Mate—"

"That's not true," she glowered. "He cares about me."

"Oh bollocks!" snapped Ron. "Do you hear yourself? This is the same bloke who called you a Mudblood, who hexed you, who tried to get Hagrid fired—and for all we know he's a Death Eater!"

Hermione peaked at Harry from the corner of her eye who was looking away sheepishly. Had he not told Ron the truth? Whatever his reasons, she was grateful.

"I trust him," she said, neither denying or confirming what she knew. "There's no excuse for what he's done but—"

"Whether or not Malfoy is a Death Eater, Ron is right," interrupted Harry. "This relationship of yours is dangerous—I mean—his father is Lucius Malfoy and his aunt is Bellatrix Lestrange. They would've killed us at the Ministry if they'd got the chance."

"Well you almost killed me, Harry," she replied icily.

Harry went deathly pale and she felt bad for having used it against him. "Hermione," he faltered. "That's not fair, it's not the same—I thought Malfoy was about to hex Ron and—"

"You can't be with him," said Ron sternly. "That's all there is to it."

Hermione looked at him resolutely. "Don't you tell me what to do, Ronald Weasley."

Ron shook his head, his face almost the same color as his hair. "You're so naive! Malfoy's manipulating you—using you for some big scheme of his. Think about it! Otherwise, why would someone like him be with you?"

Hermione's mouth fell open and Harry's eyes fell shut as if unwilling to witness her reaction to his words.

"That's-that's not what I meant," he said quickly, his eyes darting between her and Harry.

"Get out!" she screamed. "Just get out!"

"I mean his blood prejudice—you always take the things I say in the worst way!"

"Because you say them in the worst way!"

"Don't be a fool, listen to me— Merlin, I know what it is— it's the bracelet— ever since you put that thing on."

"Get out!" she screamed again, struck by a wave of guilt for once having believed the same. "Just get out before I hex you!"

Ron's face was turning pink. "Hermione listen to me. Malfoy doesn't care about you!"

"Beg to differ," came a soft voice.

The curtain was drawn back and Draco stood behind it. His injuries appeared to have been healed but there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was unkempt as if he'd just woken.

"Step away from my witch Weasley."

Ron rounded on him, his wand out and pointed at him. "She's not yours, Malfoy," he hissed and there was so much venom in his voice that Hermione barely recognized it.

Harry glanced between the two and stepped closer toward Hermione as though he was afraid of her getting hurt in the crossfire again.

Folding his arms over his chest, he sighed, "I'm not here to fight. I just want to see Hermione."

"You're not coming near her," said Ron.

Draco clenched his jaw. "I feel sorry for you Weasley," he said softly.

Ron let out a contemptuous laugh. "It's you I feel sorry for—you-you-you sick excuse for a wizard—!"

"I get it," he continued, ignoring Ron. "You're angry because you know it's not a spell or a potion. She loves me and that's not something you can fix like one of your fights—"

"No, she doesn't," Ron hissed gripping his wand fiercely.

"—I'm not Krum or McLaggen… I'm the only other wizard who loves her more than you do—"

"You've just filled her head with lies you poisonous snake—"

"That's what eats at you the most, that I was the competition and you didn't even know. So yeah I feel sorry for you… I'd feel sorry for me too if she'd chosen you."

"The hell she's chosen you!" bellowed Ron. "If you think she'd choose you over us, her best friends, you don't know anything about her! You will never, _ever_ be good enough… you don't deserve any of her forgiveness!"

"Probably," he whispered and now Draco's eyes were fixed on hers as if he'd never seen her before. "But you're not in the equation Weasley, not anymore… and sometimes… when she looks at me… it's as if it's only ever been us."

Her breath hitched.

Harry cleared his throat, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

Suddenly all the rage, the unadulterated hatred which had consumed Ron seemed to drain. "Hermione," he whispered, addressing her but still staring straight at Malfoy. "Hermione choose. It's him or us."

"Ron—"

"Mate, this isn't the time or place—"

" _Choose!_ "

She opened her mouth but faltered, tears springing to her eyes. "Please don't make me," she choked. "I love all of you."

He paled a chalk-white, turning to her, his wand falling at his side. "You don't mean that," he spoke softly, almost in a mollifying manner as if she were unwell. "You're just tired and confused."

Something came over Hermione then and perhaps it was the stress of almost dying or the tumultuous events which had occurred in the last twenty-four hours, she didn't know what exactly, but she'd reached her breaking point.

"Leave," she blurted.

"You heard her Weasley—"

"No, all of you," she said looking at Draco. "Leave. Now."

"What?" he spluttered in disbelief. "Why me?"

" _Why you_?" she shrieked. " _YOU_ started all this!" She picked up a glass bottle and hurled it at Draco's head. He ducked and it hit the wall, sending the glass into glimmering pieces. His eyes were wide and incredulous. "And if you didn't have the maturity of a toadstool," she pointed an accusing finger at Ron. "I wouldn't be in this mess!" Another bottle shattered, glass shards everywhere. Ron looked frightened, his arms out in front of his face in anticipation of evading another bottle.

Harry rushed over to her side. "Hermione, your wounds—"

"AND YOU—I told you not to use spells from that stupid book! GET OUT, all of you, I never want to see the three of you'll ever again!"

Madam Pomfrey ran in stumbling upon the disconcerting scene. "What in the world—"

The glass shards crunched under her feet, the liquid contents splattered across the floor. She took one look at the nurse and burst into tears.

"Everyone out," ordered Pomfrey sternly. "Now!"

Her whole body wracked by sobs as the three boys left with abashed and concerned faces.

"There, there, dear, drink this," cooed the nurse.

Hermione took the potion with a trembling hand and gulped it down. Then she was tucked into bed like she was when she was a little girl and wished for things to be as simple again. She didn't want to make hard decisions anymore or be responsible, she wanted to be a child and taken care of. These were her last thoughts before the sleeping draught washed over her.

* * *

The castle was covered in darkness and Draco couldn't believe it had only been last night when everything had come apart. The only consolation was that Weasley and Potter had been given a lifetime's worth of detention. A pitiful consolation prize considering what he had almost lost. Making his way through the corridors under a disillusionment charm, he felt the phantom pain of his broken ribs which had already been healed by the time he'd woken in the hospital wing.

A voice coughed behind him nearly making him jump out of his skin.

"Draco," said Professor Snape removing the disillusionment charm.

"Professor," he said sheepishly.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He straightened, his chin raised. "I'm going to see Hermione in the hospital wing."

"I don't think Madam Pomfrey takes kindly to visitors who arrive past midnight. In fact, I was told Miss Granger kicked you, Weasley and Potter out this afternoon."

"I'm going," replied Draco with a stubborn edge to his voice. "She'll be upset if she wakes and I'm not there."

Snape grimaced. "Spare me the details Draco. I only came to give you this."

He dug his hand deep into the pocket of his robes and took out a crumpled piece of parchment.

"I believe this is yours," he drawled. "Confiscated it from Weasley."

Draco snatched it from his hand, turning red. There was no reason to be embarrassed but Draco knew of its content and seeing it in Snape's possession made him want to shrink into himself. He started to walk off but then he said something that stopped him dead in his tracks.

He turned around slowly.

"Excuse me?"

"I said don't send the letter. Your father, he may be swayed, but your mother will not take kindly to the news. She's fragile Draco, it'll overtax her."

"But how did you—"

"Oh," he intoned. "I didn't read it—impressive charm by the way—if only you were as half as committed to your studies as you were to—"

"Then how did you know?"

"Your Occumulency fails when the mind does. You were in quite the state when I pulled you from Miss Granger."

Draco gulped. "It happened so fast," he defended. "There was so much blood..."

Snape pressed his lips into a thin line. "She was dying Draco...and you did nothing."

"There was so much blood," he echoed, his mind flooding with the recent memory of her gasping for air.

The wizard gave Draco a look of pity.

"Mister Potter is right to want to protect her from you."

His eyes widened. "Protect her—from me?" he demanded. "It wasn't my wand that cursed her!"

"Do you know how Mister Potter still lives Draco? Why the Dark Lord could not kill him?"

"Sheer dumb luck—"

"His mother," continued Snape. "Gave her life for his and her sacrifice saved him."

Draco frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because the next time Miss Granger jumps in front of a curse, it will most probably take her life. The spell the Dark Lord casts is almost always a killing curse."

Realization dawned on Draco, his blood pounding in his ears at what Snape was driving at. "I've already told you, I won't give her up."

The man's face twisted in disgust; disgust at him. "Then it is a pale, shallow adoration you feel for her… and all that has happened here, is that you have succeeded in tricking an innocent girl, into falling in love with you."

"You're wrong," he hissed. "I do love her!"

"Then prove it," demanded Snape. "Let her go… for that's what true love is Draco—sacrifice."

"What do you know of love?" he snapped back angrily.

The wizard's face fell, crumpling into a desolate grim expression. "I know what it's like to live without it and I don't want that for you."

Draco suddenly felt he was able to look deep into the other man's soul but before he could discern what all of it meant, he'd left with a flourish of his black robes.

He continued to the hospital wing in a sort of trance and he'd been so deep in thought he couldn't recall how he got there.

Hermione stirred as he climbed into bed next to her and slipped his arm around her waist.

"Where were you?" she mumbled accusingly as if her tantrum gave him no excuse to leave her for so long.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, placing a kiss on her shoulder. "I'm here now."

She turned, wrapping herself around him, her hands gripping him tightly, her head buried in his chest. Within minutes Hermione had fallen back into a deep sleep but he couldn't find any rest. Because Severus Snape's words came to haunt him like a living nightmare. And he decided then that it would be the last time he'd lie next to her.

Come sunrise, he would let her go.


	41. Pinky Promise

A/N: Hi everyone, don't be alarmed but the rest of the story will have fragments of the future scattered throughout, so two timelines will sort of be running together. I've given them their own chapters, even if they're short, so as to make it as easy as possible to follow. Also, I'll be going on holiday and doing real-life things so I won't update for a while. Thank you again for your support and I hope all you beautiful people keep enjoying what I put out into the fanfic world. xo

* * *

 _4 years later…_

* * *

His office was clean; white walls with subdued hues, sprinkled with hints of greenery. Hermione seemed to love hanging ferns and accessorized his space with them. They were everywhere and it reminded Harry of her new flat in London. He'd been so busy the last two weeks he'd barely had the chance to see her. Ginny was constantly hounding him with wedding plans, insisting he become more involved in what she classified as 'big decisions'. Last week he'd spent hours looking at flowers and listening to his fiancée argue with her mother about which centerpiece would best match her wedding gown. If Harry was being honest, he'd rather leave all those decisions to her and be pleasantly surprised on the day itself.

"Oi," grinned Ron, striding into his office. "How's the groom-to-be?"

'Sod off," he chuckled closing the Grayson report.

"Still on centerpieces then?"

"Nope, we've moved onto cake-tasting now."

Ron's eyes seemed to light up. "Oh, I ought to tag along, best to get third-party opinion and all that."

He laughed. "Right, sure."

"Anyway, I got a message from Kingsley. He wants to see us."

"When?"

"Twenty minutes ago," laughed Ron who had already started walking off. "Come on!"

Quickly taking the report, he filed it in one of the cabinets and caught up to Ron.

"So the Grayson case is closed?" asked the red-head as they rode the lift up to Kingsley's office.

Harry nodded. "Tricky bastard was giving us the runaround but we finally got him. Reminds me of—"

"Mundungus Fletcher?"

"Exactly!" he exclaimed with a quiet chuckle as they stepped out onto the marble hallway. "Wonder what that slimeball is up to," Harry mused out loud.

"Didn't Hermione tell you?" asked Ron. "She caught him pedaling stolen goods at Diagon Alley. Confiscated everything and let him off with a warning—you know how soft she is."

"Mate, let's do something this weekend," pleaded Harry. "Just the four of us, I haven't seen you'll in weeks and all this wedding stuff is driving me up the bloody—"

The door to Kingsley's office flew open.

"Harry, Ron, come in— quickly!"

Kingsley wore a grim expression on his face as he walked around his mahogany desk. "Minister?" asked Harry, realizing he hadn't seen the wizard look so worried since before the end of the Second Wizarding War. "Is everything alright?"

"No," he frowned, dropping a file in front of them. Ron picked it up and began leafing through it as Kingsley continued to speak.

"Head of Magical Law Enforcement over at MACUSA contacted me a few days ago. I needed to be certain before I brought this to you both," he said pointing at the file in Ron's hands. "Corban Yaxley's body was found in an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn."

"Dead or—?"

"Murdered," answered Ron turning deathly pale.

Kingsley was shaking his head, his palms splayed on the desk. "M.O is the same. There's no doubt in my mind. It's him, he's alive."

"No, that can't be," muttered Harry as he took the file and took a glance at the grisly photos. "It's impossible."

"He must've been tracking him this entire time," Ron whispered, almost to himself.

Harry's mouth went dry as he considered the evidence. "God, we have to tell her."

"The hell we do!" hissed Ron looking at him angrily. Stabbing his finger onto the wooden surface of the desk, he punctuated each statement. "We keep this to ourselves—we portkey to New York—we help them bring him in."

"Impossible," deadpanned Kingsley. "The MACUSA consider this a British affair—it's our mess and they want us to clean it up."

"Kingsley," said Ron, dropping any formal pretense. "This will break her. She's only just..." He cursed out loud, standing so abruptly that his chair fell back. "Yaxley was the last one."

"Which means, what?" asked the Minister, his eyes darting between the two Aurors.

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he understood what that implied. "It means that he's following through on a promise he made four years ago."

"And what exactly did this promise entail?"

Ron's jaw was clenched, a terrified expression drawn over his face.

"He swore he'd come back for her when it was finally safe for them to be together."

The Minister sunk into his armchair. "Are you telling me that Draco Malfoy is coming back to Britain?"

"No," said Harry bluntly. "We're saying he's probably already here."

The Minister jumped from his seat, issuing a stream of orders so rapidly that Harry could barely follow. He bellowed to his secretary outside, a tall skinny woman with short hair and large teeth.

"Polly, get someone from the Prophet over here now," he ordered.

"Can't we hold off on the press?" asked Harry.

"As the Minister of Magic, I have a responsibility to the wizarding community to warn them that a rogue Death Eater is alive and still at large.

"You two," he said looking pointedly at them. "Get a team together. I want you'll heading this—in fact, bring Hermione in. She'll know his movements, his habits, how he thinks—oh, and get Matthews and Leto to watch over her flat."

Ron who had yet to say a word was merely nodding along.

"Minister," interrupted Harry. "I don't think you understand… she might not be willing to help us."

Kingsley's lips tugged down into a deep-set frown waiting for an explanation.

"It's _complicated_ ," he offered, unable to explain it himself.

The dark tall wizard sat back in his armchair, his gaze fixed beyond Harry's shoulder.

"Draco Malfoy is responsible for the cold-blooded murder of six people—"

"Death Eaters," corrected Harry.

The Minister's eyebrows furrowed. "Murder is murder," he said gravely. "It is the line between them and us."

He nodded looking sheepish for implying that because they were Voldemorts followers, their deaths didn't matter.

A few minutes later, Ron and Harry were ushered out by Polly who seemed to have caught Kingsley's agitation like the flu. But even they were shaken.

"Mate," he said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's okay, we're going to find him and it'll all be over."

Ron stopped in his tracks and glared at Harry accusingly. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" he asked taken aback.

"It's been four years... four fucking years and it's still not over... it's never over with them Harry."


	42. Break Me

Draco slipped away from her before dawn. His fingers had lingered on her skin a moment longer, his nose buried in her curls, swallowing down the lump in his throat. The walk back to the dungeons had felt unfamiliar. He didn't recognize the corridors. For a moment he'd forgotten where he was, believing he was back at the Manor. When he entered his dormitory, he sat on the edge of his bed unfeeling and numb. Taking the letter out of the pocket of his robes he unfolded the parchment and read it once more. The last lines caught, replaying over and over in his mind.

 _I will simply die._

He crushed the letter in his fist, his eyes red with un-spilled tears. When he uncurled his fingers, all that remained was ash. Dusting it off his palm, he knew he'd never write another like it again. His ears were ringing and he could sense how his mind was beginning to close; when he blinked he was in an empty room with white walls. There wasn't a sound, barely a coherent thought. He knew it wasn't right, this place, this room he was in, and he tried desperately to get out. But every time he attempted to, a sharp wave of nausea assaulted him. He keeled over, his elbows on his thighs, his fingers twisted in his hair.

Parting his lips, he inhaled deeply.

The room was spinning. Not the room he was sitting in, the white room, the one he was trapped in.

He exhaled.

"Mate."

Draco's eyes snapped open.

He was back in his dormitory; sick to his stomach.

When he raised his head he saw that everyone else was still fast asleep but Blaise was propped up on his elbows facing him in the shadows; a sleepily frown on his face.

"Mate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied softly, as to not wake the others up. "I'm fine."

His friend's frown grew deeper. "You sure?"

He nodded.

"Is Granger…is she…?"

Draco bit the inside of his cheek.

 _Alive_ , he thought. _She's alive._

"She's fine," he clipped. _Except you didn't want her to be._

Draco clenched his jaw, staring at Blaise. This is what he'd said would happen and maybe he'd wanted it to happen, wanted Hermione dead. For all he knew it was Zabini who'd been the one to tell Potter, and maybe he'd be the one to tell Voldemort, so he could take the Mark himself.

Looking around the room at the sleeping figures, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, they all wanted her dead, wanted him dead.

And why wouldn't they? They were all blood purists, death-eaters in the making and besides they hated him, hated her. Malfoys and Mudbloods; hated them both for different reasons. Even Theo had tried to tear them apart and then she'd been torn apart and afterward, put back together… and yet, they'd still be apart now.

Until…

Until…

Blaise had sat up in bed, his eyes glued to Draco as if he was unhinged; dangerous. _But they were the ones who were dangerous._ His enemies were everywhere, sleeping in the bed next to him, watching, discovering his secrets, ready to betray him.

"Draco…" And Blaise's hands were rising in a placating manner. "You sure you're okay?"

"Just peachy," he answered, his voice coarse.

His friend looked nervous. "Then why are you holding your wand out like that?"

Glancing down, he saw he had his hand wrapped tightly around his wand, resting on his knee, and wondered when he'd taken it out. Blinking furiously, he stood and left without another word.

Locking the bathroom door, he closed his eyes.

The world was dizzying.

His mind was fracturing.

Everything had to be let go; he couldn't breathe this way.

Just for a moment…

The doors which were always locked flew open, water pouring in everywhere, water trickling down his face, down his throat. His chest constricting, his wand falling to the floor because even that had become too heavy to hold. He was too heavy to hold. He fell to his knees. It was all too heavy and if he didn't take it off he'd suffocate.

He threw himself over the toilet. His stomach churned, the taste of bitter bile rising in his throat and with a violent lurch, he began to heave. Except there was nothing other than the rancid taste of his own organs and he imagined the rotting, decaying portrait of Dorian Gray. And it was exactly as it had been written in the book Hermione had given him, so why hadn't she seen it? Why hadn't he?

 _When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others._

Severus Snape had been right… he hadn't truly loved her… until now he'd deceived her… until now, he'd been so utterly selfish that he'd convinced himself that the risk was worth it.

And he felt sorry for having tricked her into loving him the way she did. For having let her think he could protect her. He wasn't capable of that, and that meant everything.

He was pathetic.

Rising from the floor on shaky legs he turned the tap on and rinsed his mouth of his vomit. Then he washed his face and ran a wet hand through his hair trying to fathom how he'd go about breaking up with Hermione. Maybe he could just stop speaking to her, ignore her till she understood. It would be like telling her without speaking. But even he wasn't cold-hearted enough to be as blunt as that.

He fumbled in the pocket of his robes searching for the half-full vial. Eyeing the nightshade, Draco only wanted to sleep today, and then he'd tell Hermione tomorrow.

Opening it, he took a large slug downing the remains. A calm washed over and he felt… numb.

But better.

So much better.

* * *

Draco had slept most of yesterday and no one had come to disturb him. The news of the fight between the Golden Trio and him had spread quickly from house to house. Macmillan had presumably told most of his friends in Hufflepuff and like dominos the entire student population of Hogwarts had come to hear of what had happened two nights ago in the Astronomy Tower. Although, which version of the story they'd heard, was another question. He assumed Potter and Weasley hadn't told anyone anything because none of the stories which were circulating mentioned anything about him and Hermione having a secret affair.

He was sitting in uncomfortable silence among the murmurs at the dining hall the next day. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo had been quiet since the incident, refraining from asking any questions and having taken up to asking if he was alright every few hours. They had all been there when he'd woken in the hospital wing and he hated the way they seemed to watch him as if he were a bomb set to detonate. Mercifully though, they were also the ones to tell anyone who asked him what had happened to bugger off, including Crabbe and Goyle, who were so persistent that Pansy eventually fed them both a version of the story.

"I've always told everyone," she'd said. "Harry Potter can't be trusted."

Then she'd looked to Draco hoping he'd be happy with her for vilifying Potter but he felt nothing and said nothing to add to the narrative. She'd cleared her throat and continued to eat as Crabbe and Goyle returned to their meal. He glimpsed Blaise's hand reach for hers underneath the table.

He looked away and to the Gryffindor table where Potter and Weasley were eating with their backs turned to the rest of the dining hall. Then Hermione walked in, and the entire hall fell silent for an instant as if she'd just walked in on them talking about her. She was walking and balancing an open book in one hand; engrossed in it. He almost wanted to smile. It had only been yesterday that she was in the hospital wing and today she was back to reading. Then by some fortuitous hell, as she was about to sit down, she looked up from her book and their eyes locked.

Her eyes spoke volumes. It said too much. It said I miss you, I love you, I want to see you.

His eyes darted from her and to the two figures of her best friends. She sat down opposite them. He looked away and pretended to eat, pretended not to care about being the topic of discussion around the school. He tried to pretend to listen to the little conversation that was going on at his table and he tried not to notice that the coin on his chest had grown warm.

 _Tonight_ , she'd said.

He replied, _tonight_.

So tonight would be when he'd tell her and he'd come up with a way to do so.

A few hours later, Draco stood in front of the door, fighting the same nauseating feeling he had yesterday. He knew he was late but it had taken so much energy and courage to find himself here. She wrapped her arms around him when he entered and hugged him tightly.

In his ear, she whispered, "You're okay. You were gone before I woke and I…" Her breath fell on his neck in a little sigh. "I'm just so glad you're okay, Draco."

Draco couldn't understand it. She'd almost died and yet her concern was for him and not her own well-being. It was the kind of compassion that would get her killed. It was one of the things he loved most about her. How much she cared, about everything, every little thing.

He was starting to hate it.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Tilting her head up, she gave him a small smile. "I'll live."

"Don't make light of what happened," he muttered, pulling away.

He was starting to hate her.

"I'm not," she argued.

He moved to sit at the edge of the bed and cradled his head in his hands.

"Hey," she cooed, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Stop being so grumpy. It's over now and—well things are a little strange but…"

Draco swallowed, his hands coming to steeple. He waited for her to finish speaking but her fingers were running through his hair. He couldn't look at her.

"I poisoned Theo," he blurted.

Hermione's fingers stiffened. "You what?"

Raising his eyes to look at her he said, "That's why he was in the hospital wing before… I gave him enough poison to make him violently ill."

He looked down to the floor. There was a moment of drawn-out silence and Draco swore it was the end. This would be the straw that broke the camel's back. She'd hate him, just as much as he hated her right now and she'd leave him.

"Ok," she sighed after a minute. "Let's… let's talk about this."

Draco's eyes snapped up to hers, his teeth clenched. He watched as she crossed her arms, pursing her lips. "There's nothing to talk about," he said in a low voice. "You said you'd leave if I hurt anyone else and I have, so…"

The reminder of her ultimatum seemed to come to her as a bigger shock than his confession. "Well, yes, yes," she stammered. "I did say that, so, let's sit down and talk about why you did what you did and—"

"There's nothing to talk about," he deadpanned. "It's done. I did it."

Her mouth fell open a little and then suddenly she composed herself. "I'm willing to forgive you," she said evenly. "You… you felt hurt, betrayed—but you must regret it—you understand it was the wrong thing to do."

Draco let out a heavy sigh. Maybe he did feel a little bad about it, maybe it'd been wrong of him, but…

"I don't regret it, I don't feel bad and I'd do it again."

She was blinking furiously. "Well, I… I'm obviously very disappointed in you for doing this—"

A frightening revelation came to him. His face contorted in disgust. Disgust at her, at himself, and at what they'd become, at the lengths they were both willing to go to, to stay together, to be able to reach out and rub against one another's flesh. And she was lenient with him, far too forgiving.

" _Disappointed_?" he sneered. "You said if I hurt anyone else, you'd leave me. Or does Hermione Granger no longer care about what's right or wrong?"

Her arms fell to her side and her chest was heaving, perhaps finally understanding the trap she'd walked into. "Of course, I do! I just—"

"You have a different set of rules for me."

"No!" she retorted angrily crossing her arms again. "I don't, it's just you never follow them and—"

"You said you'd leave me."

Her eyes snapped to his and he realized they were moist. "Stop saying that," she hissed. "You and I both know I'm not actually going to break up with you over some stupid fight you have going on with Nott!"

"And if I had given him enough poison to kill him?"

She scoffed as if the idea was laughable and he supposed it was. He couldn't kill anyone. He didn't even want to kill Dumbledore and that was with a death threat over his head. But he didn't like the certain way she'd laughed at him as if the entire thing was unfathomable.

"Find that funny, do you? Don't think I'm capable? Where do you think I got the poison from? It was the poison I smuggled in to kill Dumbledore."

Her face fell, devoid of any happiness. Her voice sounded small and far away when she spoke. "Why are you always hurting me?"

"I don't mean to."

"But you do… whether you intend to or not."

"Weasley's right," he said, the words tasting foul on his tongue when he spoke them. "You deserve better than me."

Something flashed in her eyes. A realization as if it had only occurred to her just now.

"Are you trying to break up with me?"

Draco looked to the floor again. It was a little dirty. They should clean this room, this room they'd never come to again. Not after this.

"Or are you hoping I'll do it for you?" she said when he didn't respond.

"Why?"

And even then he still couldn't speak. Couldn't remove his gaze from the dust bunnies.

She shoved his shoulders.

"WHY?"

"Because!" he choked and then he was suddenly raving like a madman. Furious with her for making this so bloody difficult.

"—And I have no control over anything! My head is filled with you and it's always been like that, except now it's infinitely fucking worse! I should've stopped but I'm weak for you. And I can't protect you. I can't even protect myself! I'm powerless and scared and I wish I'd never come to this bloody school! I wish I'd never met you!"

There was a pause, so brief, he thought she'd just leave and let it be done but suddenly she was screaming bloody murder and she wasn't leaving.

"…and don't think I don't know about your secret plan!" she cried. "I know you're leaving—I've known for weeks—do you think it's easy to be kept in the dark, to pretend like everything's going to be ok when I could wake up one day and you could just be gone! I didn't choose to love you either—!"

"THEN STOP!" he begged.

"I DON'T KNOW HOW!" And she was sobbing and he was sorry and they were both _so_ , so sorry and he was holding her to his chest cradling her head telling her he couldn't be selfish anymore. But she was kissing his mouth, his eyes, his cheeks, his chin, his nose, kissing I-love-you's all over his face and tugging at his shirt.

"Hermione… Hermione, stop."

She was shaking her head, shaking the words away, her breath hot against his skin. "You're just scared," she whispered. "Let me make it better… I can be brave for the both of us."

She was pushing him down, straddling him. Her lips on his, making him forget. Her fingers were unbuttoning her shirt and his eyes followed the movement. Merlin, he wanted to. The temptation to get lost in her was overwhelming. It would take away everything, the fear, the aching void… the white room. And maybe he could bury himself in her just once more. To say goodbye. It wouldn't be his fault. She wasn't giving him a choice. She _never_ gave him a choice. He fell back on the bed, running his hands through his hair, wanting very much to tear it all out. Her lips were on his neck and he was growing hard under the heat of her. But he couldn't, he couldn't because he knew if he didn't do it now, he'd never be able to.

Professor Snape's words rang in his ear.

 _Love, Draco, is sacrifice._

He chanted them in his mind until it was quiet again.

Sitting up quickly, he placed his hands over Hermione's and removed them from his person.

"Hermione," he exhaled, holding her away from him. "I can't. I—"

"Shut up," she rasped, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. "Shut your mouth."

"Hermione—"

" _You_ came to _me_. _You_ seduced _me_ … begged me to be with you! You wanted this! You asked me what I wanted, you said you'd give me anything—"

"I know," he cringed. It was true, it was all true.

"Give me you," she whimpered. "I just want you."

Looking her straight in the eye he spat, "That's not true… I'd have asked you to come with me but you won't though, will you? When it comes down to it, you'd choose him. I know you would—"

"W-what? I don't feel that way about Ron!"

He gave a heavy sigh. "I'm not talking about Weasley…"

Hermione blinked the tears out of her eyes.

"You'd never leave Potter," he said wiping her cheek.

Her palm was on his, reassuring him that they were just friends.

He looked away from her. "I know no matter what you say to me you have some deep-seated loyalty to him that eclipses anything else. You love him. You love both of them—everyone—even the bloody elves… even me."

" _Especially you_ ," she cried. "You said this was worth it."

"I'm not worth dying for," his voice cracked. "We can't be together... not now."

There were tears streaming down her face. "Then when?" she demanded, clinging on to, 'not now', rather than 'we can't be together'.

"After," he gulped. But maybe that was a lie.

"What if there is no after, what if this is it?"

"There will be," he said. "When it's safe, we'll be together again... I'll come back to you."

"How can I believe you?" she sniffled, her words barely discernible. "How can I…"

Draco offered her his little finger and one little word.

"Faith."

She curled her own little finger around his, trying to smile through the tears.

Her other hand wrapped around his, clinging to him. He tried to extricate himself from her, pulling gently as tears fell down his own face.

"Let me leave you, Hermione. Please... Merlin, let me do it because I can't do it alone."

And despite the nauseating feeling threatening to rise up his throat, he left her in their room; banging the door closed as she called out his name.


	43. Concessions

_Four years later..._

* * *

Close to midnight, Hermione apparated home to her flat in Muggle London. A flat which still belonged to her parents, although they couldn't remember it nor could they remember her. She kicked her heels off and ripped the Maid of Honor sash from her body. Luna's bachelorette party hadn't gone according to plan. Ginny had subtly taken over and while they were supposed to have had a civilized five-course meal at a Michelin-star restaurant, they'd ended up at a crowded and loud nightclub, Tequila and Sambuca shots lining the bar. Parvarti, Lavender, and Ginny had done a terrific job of batting their eyelashes, proudly presenting Luna and her Bride-to-be sash to the bartender to score free drinks. Hermione couldn't blame the girls for sabotaging the night she'd planned but she'd resented being dragged along, even if it was to celebrate the upcoming marriage of one of her best friends.

At some point, she realized she was actually enjoying herself until… until she saw a shock of blonde hair. Hair that didn't belong to Draco, but was the same rare tint; similar enough to make her throw herself into the sweaty throng of people in search of him. After ten minutes she found herself outside the club, gasping for air. She must've imagined it, the way she imagined it at Diagon Alley when she was getting ice cream at Fortescue's; the same way she had imagined seeing his grey eyes driving on the road in Muggle London.

For years, Hermione had seen him everywhere.

Apologizing to the girls she'd left the club. Work emergency, she'd said. A nursing residency was rigorous, after all, especially when she was trying to find a muggle way to retrieve her parent's memories by working closely with Alzheimer's patients. A magical solution didn't seem to exist but perhaps if she combined magic and science something would come of it.

Stripping her dress off, she turned the shower on, testing the water waiting for it to run hot.

Hermione's head snapped around, her eyes darting through the open bathroom door to her room. She thought she'd heard something, someone in her apartment but the only sound she could hear was the running water. The night had her on edge. Releasing a deep breath, she placed her palms against the tiles and bent her head directly under the showerhead. Her wet hair stuck to her shoulders and the water rolled over her. She closed her eyes wishing she wasn't alone. She hated it when she was alone, especially when she wasn't truly alone and yet she still felt it wholeheartedly. Her mind always wondered when that was the case.

Turning the shower off she watched as the water drained.

It was just tonight, she told herself; seeing that shock of white-blonde hair had pulled her back into long-forgotten memories. Not that long ago really but still, it seemed a lifetime.

Draco Malfoy was a lifetime ago.

He belonged to an age where her existence felt like it belonged to him. She told herself she'd been young, so very young. Only four years later and she had aged as if she'd lived already for far too long.

She thought of calling Ron or Harry or Ginny. She wanted to but she couldn't let them know. She still had her secrets and these thoughts, these were perilous thoughts, ones she couldn't share with them; those which had no place in her life now, the new Hermione, the I'm-okay Hermione. Wrapping her arms around herself she felt a chill run through her. She'd been standing in the shower for far too long.

She couldn't be alone tonight. It was too dangerous. She knew what she needed and that was dangerous too. Sitting on the edge of her bed she took a moment to calm herself. When she felt better she redressed, her hair still wet and soaking her shirt. She went to her fireplace. It was late but she didn't care. She'd wake him if he were asleep. It was always late when she went to see him anyway.

Grabbing a handful of floo powder she looked into the fire and called out her destination.

When she opened her eyes she was at the entrance of the Manor which was so familiar to her; the grand columns, the expensive ornaments, and chandelier, the eerie echo of a palace barely inhabited, except for one man.

In the middle of the large foyer was an elaborate staircase, gilded in gold and parting the mansion into two separate wings. Covered in darkness, Hermione made her way by the little moonlight streaming through the windows. At the midway landing of the stairs, she turned toward the right-wing and made her way up further. It sounded simple, this architectural design but this was a house of magic and she'd gotten lost before.

One day, becoming frightened, losing herself in the labyrinth, she'd yelled for him and he'd found her huddled in one corner of the room, crying. Thankfully, tonight, she saw a faint glow emanating from one of the rooms at the end of the long hallway. Her heart was beating furiously as she stepped into the light and saw a figure standing, hunched over the fireplace, leaning on the mantel with one hand, a drink hanging loosely in the other.

"Hello, Theodore."

His dark eyes stared ahead at the fire as if she hadn't spoken and the flames began burning more brightly, changing color.

"You're back," he murmured. " _Again_."

She walked deeper into the room and saw it was a kind of living room, large and well decorated, but devoid of any living. It was cold and empty, like its proprietor. Her eyes didn't want to linger too long on Theodore Nott. He was shirtless, wearing silk navy boxers, his night robe hung loose on his frame.

"Yes," she said clearing her throat. "I am."

He raised the drink he was holding to his lips and finished it. Placing the empty glass on the mantle above the fire he finally turned his frame to look at her. "I can't keep doing this," he said pleadingly.

"I know," she whispered. "But..."

She stepped close toward him, close enough for him to step back, to make him uncomfortable… to torment him.

"Please."

He ran a hand through his hair frantically. She observed him while he thought. He was taller than Draco. His eyes were dark, much darker than at first glance and his hair… his hands… his cologne… to anyone else, Theodore Nott was nothing like the boy she loved and yet the two were so similar. So similar that in fact she wondered where one began and the other ended. Had they always been so alike, perhaps from their childhood when they were once almost like brothers? Had Draco picked up Theo's habits and mannerisms or had Theo picked things up from Draco? The quiet way they both spoke… the empty expressions which gave nothing away… the way his hair fell in his face if he didn't style it back… and there was one more commonality; one she'd just begun to notice.

The way they both looked at her… different and still the same.

Theo swallowed. "This is the last time," he said and she could hear in his voice how little he meant it.

She nodded quickly. Her tongue flicking out to lick her lips. "Okay."

Theo walked past her and out the door. She followed behind down the long corridor. Empty frames still hung on the walls from the first time she'd come to Nott Manor, and she realized then that he would never replace the portraits he'd taken down. He wanted nothing to do with his heritage, his lineage, with himself. He only wanted to be alone, completely and utterly alone, without a soul. Except for hers.

He always allowed hers into his home.

Stepping into his bedroom, she closed the door behind them. She watched as he walked over to the bedside table and drew his wand from his robes. Taking a deep breath, he placed the tip at his temple and closed his eyes. After a few seconds, he began to tug ever so gently. A silver stream of memory caught at the end. Carefully, he placed it in the small pensieve on the table near the large armoire.

He gestured to her to come to him. She approached slowly as he moved to the side giving her space. He never moved far and she could always feel the heat of him next to her as she gripped the sides of the table and bent her head down, vanishing into the memory.

 _Hermione felt the familiar tug and then she was no longer in Theo's bedroom anymore. She was in a place so familiar to her she knew its paths like the wrinkles on her palm._

 _A young Draco was sitting down at a table in front of her next to Blaise Zabini._

 _She smiled warmly at him wishing he was truly with her, that this wasn't just a memory of him, that he could be more than just everyone's memories._

 _He spoke suddenly with an edge to his voice. "He's in the library again, hovering about. What do you reckon he wants?"_

 _Hermione followed Draco's line of sight. He was glaring at Viktor Krum._

 _"_ _Who cares?" said Blaise exasperated. "Did you see how he fought that Chinese Fireball?"_

 _"_ _He's an arrogant arse if you ask me," retorted Draco with a scowl._

 _Blaise was rolling his eyes, and Theo gave Viktor a cursory glance as if weighing whether Draco's statement was true or false._

 _Theo shrugged seeming to reach a conclusion. "Nothing like Professor Lockhart though, now he was an arrogant arse," he commented as he saw a gaggle of girls whispering nearby. "Krum just seems to want to be left alone."_

 _Draco threw him an accusatory glance as if he'd been betrayed. "Like hell he wants to be left alone."_

 _His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze moved from Viktor's to Hermione, the Hermione then, studying at another table. Draco's eyes lingered on her and she couldn't believe she'd been so absorbed by her books that she'd never noticed him watching her._

 _They both watched as Viktor stood from his own table and walked over to hers._

 _She remembered this… this was the day he'd finally mustered enough courage to ask her to go with him to the Yule Ball._

 _Draco's frown grew deeper. "What the hell do you think that's about?"_

 _Blaise raised an eyebrow, a slip of a smile on his face. "Why don't you go ask them?" he teased._

 _But Draco was so distracted in his own thoughts staring at her, he hadn't registered Blaise's quip. "What's that?" he murmured after a minute, turning to his friends absentmindedly._

 _"_ _Nothing mate," smirked Blaise. "Nothing."_

 _Draco began drumming his fingers against the table. His eyes staring hard at the parchment he'd been working on. "He really ought to be more careful with the type he consorts with," she heard him mumble. "Wouldn't want him sullying himself with a Mudblood."_

 _Theo and Blaise ignored him and continued on with their homework. She watched as Draco continued to stare down at the table, a withdrawn expression veiling his face. Just then she sneezed and his head snapped up to glower at her as though she was purposely trying to distract him, or perhaps infect him with some sort of Muggle illness. She wriggled her nose and his frown faded, replaced with something else._

 _Hermione smiled._ _Because she recognized that look._ _She knew him in death much better than she'd known him in life._

 _She tried to touch his hair and run her fingers through the strands the way she used to but her hand moved through him like an apparition._

 _She bent her head down, the tip of her nose hovering over him but she couldn't catch the scent of citrus, spice, and freshly cut grass._

 _Like most ghosts, he had no smell._

She surfaced from the memory, a tear slipping.

Staring into the pensieve, she blinked trying to compose herself.

"Here."

Hermione turned away from the metal basin. Theo was holding a glass of firewhiskey out to her. She politely refused like she'd done every other time she'd come here. No matter, he was never deterred, he always offered and he always took to drinking it instead.

Except for the first time she had arrived at his doorstep—after the funeral, the funeral without a body—dripping wet, he didn't offer her anything to drink. He let her in and wrapped something warm around her. Then he gave her a memory, to comfort her, to assuage his own guilt, but really, he'd only acquiesced because she had refused to leave without seeing Draco again and he wanted above all else, for her to leave.

"How is the future Mrs. Scamander?" he asked suddenly, sneering at the name.

Hermione was taken back by the question. They never spoke about Luna. He never asked and after awhile the name felt like acid on her tongue. Something that could burn through the volatile relationship they'd developed, whatever that relationship was, she still didn't know.

"Happy," she answered. It was the truth. Luna was very happy.

She saw his pale face in the firelight of his room and wished he'd go into the sun more.

"You know it's not too late Theo."

His lips tugged into a melancholic smile. "It's four years too late, Granger."

"You could tell her…"

He raised his eyes to meet hers and in a severe tone, rasped, "I will never, ever, tell her."

"I don't understand why you choose to be miserable," she clipped.

Theo suddenly laughed, an incredulous, contemptuous laugh. Almost as if they were back in Hogwarts and he was making fun of her. "Look at you, Miss Fucking-Sunshine, telling me not to be miserable. You're pathetic Granger, coming here— to me of all people—just to see a glimpse of him…"

The glass in his hand was empty again and Hermione wanted to hold him and cry.

"My own memories aren't enough sometimes," she admitted.

His eyes began undressing her. "This needs to stop," he whispered fearfully. "I don't want to see you again."

"I saw you at Diagon Alley two months ago," she countered, pointing out that either way he'd see her again, at least, from time to time. He couldn't escape her or the pain.

Theo shrugged as if those random chance meetings were of no consequence.

"And then at the Memorial Ball," she whispered.

His eyes snapped to hers and they danced across her face and she knew he was remembering what he'd said to her when he'd caught her alone. That terrible, terrible thing he'd said. And she could tell he was livid that she hadn't just pretended it had never happened the way he was pretending.

"I was drunk," he retorted angrily.

Hermione gave a tired sigh. Walking up to him, she grabbed the empty glass from his hand and vanished it. "You're always drunk," she reproached.

Theo stepped into her and dipped his head, his lips brushing her ear. They lingered there for a moment before he spoke, his words barely audible.

"Get out of my house you stupid, stupid girl."

She clenched her teeth and began to leave. There was no talking to him when he was like this… and he was almost always like this. Drunk or hostile, sometimes both. Rarely ever, was he anything else, except when he was, and then that was worse.

"Wait," he suddenly called out in a frightened voice.

Her hand was on the door handle and she was afraid to let go because that voice, it sounded so desperate. "Will you come back?"

Without turning around to look at him, she whispered to the wood, "I always come back."

* * *

A/N: Hope you're enjoying the time jumps. I know it would've been far simpler to let the whole thing play out but I'm trying to do something different and far more challenging. It's also a little experimental to see what works in a story. I will try my utter best not to disappoint anyone. Have a great weekend :)


	44. Cheerleader

After the dulling acceptance of it, Hermione seemed to circle around in her grieving. During the short walk back to her dormitory, she convinced herself that Draco Malfoy was not capable of living without her. The idea of them not being together after everything was so unimaginably ludicrous she couldn't truly believe him. He had always been childish and this was just one of his silly tantrums which she'd allow to play out.

The thought of him trying to trick her into breaking up with him left a bitter resentment on her tongue. If she were honest she believed wholeheartedly that she had a right to him, a burning necessity that took precedence over frivolous things such as safety and reason; and what inflamed her fury more was to know he felt the same tireless compulsion only to try to deny himself of yielding to it.

And all because of some stupid heroic notion that he needed to protect her. Her mind traveled to Cormac McLaggen as she climbed back into bed. She wanted to kiss him just to antagonize Draco; to punish him, hurt him. Because what she really wanted was to inflict some semblance of pain. But the idea of anyone else's lips on hers other than his was unbearable, not to mention, unfaithful. She was still his as much as he was hers.

Just a tantrum, she repeated. Let him throw it. It won't matter in the morning.

This small assurance allowed her a peaceful sleep but when she awoke any trace of denial was gone. She skipped past anger. She understood in the morning light that there was no bargaining with Draco… and there was no bargaining with Voldemort.

Hermione heard, rather than saw, the telltale signs of movement. Ginny, Lavender, and Parvarti were waking up. Then they were getting ready for the school day and she knew she should be doing so too, but she couldn't move. The pillow nestled between her thighs was warm. Neville was meant to meet her in the library so they could finish a herbology report together. Yet her eyes felt dry and tired and the library was so far away. She also had an Arthimancy essay to turn in after lunch. Still, she couldn't move.

Because it didn't matter. None of it mattered.

"Hermione," said a soft voice, touching her arm.

Ginny was speaking, asking her if the scars were bothering her or if she were in any pain.

"No," she replied. Thanks to Snape and Madam Pomfrey she had none. Nothing at all, not even a single scratch to mark that Harry had ever cursed her.

"What's wrong then?" asked Gin, her red hair catching in the light like fire.

 _Everything,_ she wanted to say. But her lips said nothing, instead, reaching for a strand of smooth ginger hair, thinking of how different it was to Draco's smooth blonde.

Her friend went to the door and called out, "Go ahead, I have to take Hermione to Madam Pomfrey for a checkup." Then Ginny closed the door, climbed into bed with her, under the covers and held her tightly, asking nothing, saying nothing and Hermione had never felt more grateful for the silence.

* * *

That was a week ago and anything that had transpired between the golden Trio and Draco Malfoy had become old news. Especially today, with the school in an uproar about the Quidditch match between Slytherin & Hufflepuff, she'd thankfully become invisible once more. Things between her, Harry and Ron had been stifled. Neither had asked her about Draco and yet they seemed to know, to sense what had happened between them. She assumed Ginny had told them and then ordered them not to ask her about it. Hermione had waited though, expecting Ron to say, _I told you so_ , for some smart remark or reprisal but instead, he said nothing, not to her, nor to anyone else when they'd asked what happened. He took great care of her as if she were a Fabergé egg, a delicate, fragile thing. Harry, on the other hand, was distant and distracted, and she was secretly pleased not to have to deal with them both coddling her. She wanted to thank him for keeping Draco's secret, to ask why he had, but she was afraid if she brought it up and out into the open he'd change his mind. To be fair, she felt a little sorry for him. Harry had many secrets to keep and others to uncover, one in particular which kept eluding him, was the memory Professor Dumbledore had asked Harry to retrieve from Slughorn. He had yet to do so...

Toying with her breakfast Hermione sneaked a glance at Draco sitting in his Quidditch gear. He looked… fine. Neither sad nor happy. He was sitting among his teammates, his arms on the table, leaning forward, his undivided attention on Urquhart as the Slytherin Captain spoke in a hushed conspiratorial tone. Hermione understood how much this stupid sport meant to him, how hard he'd been training all these months to win the Quidditch Cup and she felt stupid for not understanding the truth behind the desperation of it. Only after she'd discovered his plan to run once the school year was over, she'd realized he was determined to win because he wouldn't have the chance in the coming year, or possibly any other. She'd stopped nagging him about his constant training and pre-dawn departures. She'd begun coaxing him out of bed on those particularly lazy mornings he didn't want to leave the warmth of her and rubbed his shoulders on the days his muscles ached.

"Hermione?" whispered Ron, who'd caught her staring at her food again.

Without lifting her gaze she asked, "Who do you think will win?"

His silence made her look up. Ron's lips were a tight line.

"I don't know," he clipped after several moments. Then his eyes danced over her face and his jaw slackened as he shrugged, "It's hard to say. Slytherin seems to have made a good comeback but... like I said, it's hard to say."

Hermione went back to staring at her food. The Quidditch match would start soon. She bit her lip, her mind racing trying to figure out a way to be there for him without being there. To love him from afar.

Giving Ron a small smile she said, "I'm going to go study. I'll meet you later?"

"You aren't going to watch?" he asked perturbed. "I thought…"

She gave a little shake of the head.

He nodded in understanding, which was a strange thing because he normally never seemed to understand and he hated things as they were. He hated it more than anything... The truth, the full awareness of her lies; their broken relationship, but he let her be, he let her grieve and most importantly, he never, ever brought up Draco. He might as well have been dead to him.

Leaving the castle, she made her way to the Quidditch pitch. A mild breeze blew by and the scent of Draco came to her, as it sometimes did, in phantom drafts when it wasn't there; and she imagined that maybe it was really there, carried through the castle and grounds from where he was to her. She breathed in again and it was gone. The weather was lovely that morning and given another life she imagined a quiet picnic under the sun, grass in between her toes, soft soil underfoot. Small pleasures like those were what she hoped to have with him one day. The closest they'd come to something normal like that was on Valentine's day. Blinking away the memories she found she'd already reached the middle of the field, her head tilted to the sun. Drawing her wand and pointing it to the sky, Hermione began the incantation. The spell itself would only hold a short while but hopefully, it'd be long enough for him to see.

" _Avis Luteus_ ," she intoned, watching as specks of golden dust began to form at the tip of her wand.

She poured her heart into the spell.

 _Avis Luteus._

She felt his hand over hers again, guiding her.

 _Avis Luteus._

His breath along her ear, encouraging her.

 _Avis Luteus._

She remembered turning to smile at him, as he realized with perfect clarity the gravity of what he felt for her.

Hermione watched with a grin on her face as not one, but dozens and dozens of little golden birds flitted around, filling the sky above her, glinting like galleons.

After a few moments, she lowered her wand.

This was her gift… and she prayed that when he saw it, he'd understand, it was love.

* * *

Some hours later, the Gryffindor common room which had been mercifully quiet began to fill with the loud chatter of students bursting through the portrait. Chewing at her lip she closed the book in her lap and stood from her seat on the couch. She'd been re-reading an old potions textbook just to numb her mind.

"Who won?" she asked abruptly, interrupting a second-year who was in a heated conversation with another girl.

The girl in question, whose name Hermione kept forgetting, answered, "Slytherin." Then recovering quickly from the shock of a sixth year speaking to her added, "their seeker caught the snitch."

Hermione broke into a grin. "Oh," she laughed, a hand covering her mouth. "That's—"

"Bad!" she exclaimed with wide eyes. "If we don't beat Ravenclaw we'll lose the Quidditch Cup and I heard that Harry Potter can't play—"

She let out a big bark full of mirthful laughter. The girl looked horrified and then indignant.

"Don't you care?" she huffed, her little hands placed on her hips.

"I do," she answered, smiling at the honesty of the question. She finally gave a damn about Quidditch. "I care… I care very much."

Then she walked up to her room to be quiet and alone— because, for the first time since Harry had cursed her, she was happy. He'd been banned from playing the final match and it made her glad. Who knew that his true punishment would be the Quidditch Cup?

 _Serves him bloody right_ , she smiled to herself.


	45. Roomservice

_Four years later..._

* * *

Ron floo-ed home from Grimmauld place, after a tiring day at the Ministry and an exhausting evening at Harry's. It had been hectic organizing the manhunt for Malfoy. Everything at this point was about collecting intelligence and setting up extra security checks for port keys, apparition points and floo networks coming into Britain. Despite telling Kingsley that Malfoy was already in London he still insisted on doing things by the book. When they'd both apparated back to Harry's house to cross-reference the forensic report with the residual magic analysis, they'd been happy to find that Ginny had already left for Luna's hen night. After some discussion, they'd both agreed to tell Hermione together tomorrow early morning. It would be best to hear it from them before she read about it in the papers. They'd contemplated going to her right away but Harry had been adamant on allowing the girls to have their hen's night.

Ron had decided on his own to keep Malfoy's resurrection from his witch. It'd be front-page news in the Daily Prophet tomorrow in any case, but for all intents and purposes, it was an ongoing homicide investigation. He wasn't allowed to discuss nor divulge details about the case— not that they necessarily had much to go on. She would ask questions though, questions he wasn't allowed to answer.

Checking the time, he realized he was running late and she hated it when he was late. _Uncouth behavior_ , she'd say.

He took his sweet leisurely time showering just to spite her. Besides, he defended. She'd kept him waiting two weeks. Few minutes wouldn't kill her.

With that thought, he dressed and made his way to Muggle London. After ten minutes walk, he found his destination. Walking up to the reception he explained how he'd booked a room under his name and that his wife had already checked in but he needed an extra key. Providing her with his Muggle credit card details and a photo ID—both fakes— she handed him the room key with a smile.

"Enjoy your stay with us, Mr. Weasley."

He nodded a gesture of thanks and made his way to the lifts.

Ron was unfamiliar with this hotel as well as the Muggle part of London it was situated in. He didn't mind though, it was easier to let her choose, then she couldn't grumble about anything later. The lift climbed up to the fourth floor at a snail's pace, taunting him, making him grow more and more restless as it approached. Moments later he was standing in front of the room door using the strange metallic card-like key the receptionist had given him to unlock it. There was a click and the little red light turned green. It clicked shut behind him, his heart beating violently. She was strewn on the bed in nothing but her black lace knickers.

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she devoured him with her eyes. "Mr. Weasley," she purred. "Do you know why they call you _Head_ Auror?"

His robes fell away as he approached the bed, his palm running up her leg. "No," he replied feigning innocence.

The smile grew into a grin as she hooked her legs around his, sitting up and reaching for the belt on his trousers. "Take your clothes off and I'll show you," she whispered while undoing him.

She ran her fingers along the hem of his trousers before tugging them down. He removed his shirt as she pulled off the last piece of clothing on him and pushed him down onto the mattress.

"Show me," he said leering at her breasts.

Her tongue wet her lips and he watched the gesture like a man hypnotized. He could feel his body shake with anticipation but could do nothing to stop it as he watched her place a sweet kiss on his inner thigh… her mouth moving slowly up to his cock.

Taking deep breaths, he counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four—

Fuck.

Ron hissed as her tongue darted out tentatively to lick the tip. She closed her eyes and gently took him in her mouth, her lips enclosing around him. He groaned so violently that she started. Worried, she asked, "Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head, regretting her absence. "No, it's just… it feels so good."

She bit her lip, and a glint of something flashed across her face. Satisfaction. Her eyes didn't leave his as she dipped her head back down and licked a long wet line from the base to the head.

Merlin, he needed to start counting again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Four.

Four.

Ten.

Sugar quills.

Doxies.

Fuck.

She was gently sucking him, her head moved down till he could almost feel the back of her throat. He watched the perverted act of affection with a sick kind of fascination. He was suddenly fighting the urge to choke her with his cock. She did something with her tongue and his hand instinctively grabbed hold of her long black velvet hair.

" _Pansy_."

It felt so good… too good. It'd only been a few minutes but he was already dangerously close to climaxing. Maybe it had just been too long since they'd done this.

"Wait," he choked. "Stop." He couldn't come in her mouth and have it be over so soon, but she wasn't listening and he was so fucking close it was almost tempting to let himself go. With every ounce of willpower he possessed, he reached down and pulled her up.

"Not yet," he panted.

She wiped the sides of her mouth with a manicured finger and then kissed him fully, drinking him in like wine.

Burying a hand in her hair he yanked her head back. "Don't keep me waiting again," he rasped.

She gave a tinkering laugh. "I missed you too Ronnie."

His eyebrows furrowed. "I hate when you call me that."

"Why _Ronnie_?" she teased. "Don't you like it, _Ronnie_?"

He gave her a wide grin.

Pansy loved to play games with him.

She yelped when suddenly he flipped them over so he was straddling her. Moving the fabric of her knickers to a side he drove into her sweet warm folds with a groan. Her lithe body arched as she let out a moan of pleasure. Punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips, he ground out slowly, "Don't…fucking…call…me…Ronnie."

She gave him a drunken smile as her hands wrapped around his neck pulling him down to her lips. A whimper left her as he raised her legs hooking them over his shoulder. He loved to see her like this. So unkempt and different from the woman who was always so well put together. He'd once commented to Harry that not a strand of hair was out of place and she seemed to have a permanent resting bitch face.

Maybe it had been the challenge of breaking her which had caught his attention, but he also admitted it was the simple fact that they'd run into each other by chance, and he'd been thoroughly and utterly seduced by her. That was almost a year ago, and he'd been panting after her like a puppy ever since.

He leaned down to nuzzle her neck. Biting her earlobe he said, "Sing it."

She winced as he withdrew, sliding deep into her again.

"Oh darling, please," she muttered. "Not this again."

"Sing. It."

He could practically feel her roll her eyes in protest but smiled as she began, a breathless, jagged rendition of an old song, pausing every few words to stifle her laughter.

 _Ronald always makes me sing,_

 _He has me dangling on a string_

 _Fucks me good, knows all my kinks_

 _Weasley is my Kinggg._

They both took one look at each other and burst out with unrestrained laughter, losing the rhythm of their lovemaking as he collapsed on top of her. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"You're squashing me," she snorted, still giggling.

He raised himself up slightly on his elbows to look at her, a smile still on his face as her own hysterics subsided.

Ron never thought it could be like this; that he could be fucking one minute, laughing the next and then making doe-eyes, in another. Their noses grazed as he stared into her cobalt-blue irises. He'd wanted to wait for the opportune moment to bring this up but looking at her now he couldn't stand the idea of waiting any longer.

"Leave him," he whispered.

She stared at him a long while. Just as he thought that perhaps she hadn't heard she gave a heavy sigh. "Leave my husband?" she murmured; as if it were a question she was asking herself rather than him. "No... No, I couldn't do that."

" _Why_?" he demanded, his jaw clenching.

Pansy's eyes locked with his, something furious within them. "He's my husband, Ronald. What do you mean, _why_?"

"Because as mental as it sounds... every time you're with him, every time I think of you two together, I hate it, I fucking hate it. You're not betraying him anymore Pans, you're betraying me—"

"Darling please," she winced. "Can we talk about this another time, perhaps when you're not inside me?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "No," he gritted. "I don't like the way things are right now—"

She made to kiss him while raising her hips.

He flinched, pinning her arms down.

"You're not going to distract me with sex," he said simply.

Her eyes narrowed. "Fine, you want me to leave him so what? So we can fuck without you having an attack of conscience—?"

"Because I can't propose to you while you're still married to him!"

He heard her breath hitch. He knew he'd turned as red as a tomato and was embarrassed for it.

"Ronald—"

"I know you love me, so why are you so afraid?"

"Stop it—"

"Is it because of the money?" he demanded, his hands tightening around the wrist adorned with an emerald bracelet Zabini had bought her. Everything about her spelled money. Her perfume, her clothes, her skin.

Pansy threw him an indignant glare. "Yes," she hissed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm a gold-digging slag. I have Blaise for his money and you for multiple orgasms. Happy, darling? Is that what you want to hear?"

"No—"

"Has it ever occurred to you that I just don't trust you?"

His hold on her slackened. "Wh-at?" he stuttered. "Trust me with what?"

"You're sleeping with a married woman—not to mention, I'm cheating on my husband. It's not the most inspired start for a healthy relationship..."

She gave a sudden gasp as his hips slammed into hers. He didn't want to play dirty but she always made things impossible. He had her trapped with his penetrating gaze, his hard length locking them together and his weight bearing down on her.

"I love you," he rasped. "I want you to be my wife. I want you to go home, wait for your husband to come back from his business trip and when he does, tell him you are in love with someone else. I want you to pack your bags and leave him. I don't want you spending another single night in a bed that isn't mine, is that clear Pansy?"

Her chest was heaving again.

Not with anger, but with something else.

"Oh," he added softly, beginning to move inside her. "And the next time I fuck you as a married woman, you'll be married to me."

She opened her mouth to argue but he covered it with his, muffling whatever fearful notion she had about them being together.

Besides…

There was nothing he wanted to hear from her, other than two precious little words.

 _I do._


	46. Surprises: Part I

After finally having extracted the memory from Slughorn, Harry was eager to tell Ron and Hermione everything that had happened the night before. Being far too anxious to wait till lunchtime, he cast a _muffliato_ during their morning's Charms lesson and divulged everything. His friends were both satisfyingly impressed by the way he had wheedled the memory out of Slughorn and positively awed when he told them about Voldemort's Horcruxes and Dumbledore's promise to take Harry along, should he find another one.

"Wow," said Ron, when Harry had finally finished telling them everything; Ron was waving his wand in the direction of the ceiling without paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was doing. "Wow. You're actually going to go with Dumbledore… and try and destroy… wow."

"Ron, you're making it snow," said Hermione patiently, grabbing his wrist and redirecting his wand away from the ceiling from which, sure enough, large white flakes had started to fall.

"Oh yeah," said Ron, looking down at his shoulders in vague surprise. "Sorry… looks like we've all got horrible dandruff now…"

He brushed some of the fake snow off Hermione's shoulder, his cheeks turning crimson as he did so, but Hermione simply returned the kind gesture with a small smile. Harry was bewildered by their behavior and yet too relieved to comment on any of it. Things were far from normal between the three of them and neither one knew how to fix it but they were trying and that's what mattered. Watching Ron and Hermione the last few weeks, he'd been waiting, expectantly, for a careless remark or a subtle slur, to upend the fragile peace but Ron had never been so patient, Hermione so attentive. Even Ginny had begun acting differently. She had barely spoken to Ron or Harry since the incident, other than to tell them that something bad had happened between Hermione and Malfoy and not to press her for answers till she was ready. It didn't seem as if Ginny was particularly angry with them—disappointed, in the both of them, sure—but if Harry had to guess, he'd almost say she herself felt guilty, although, he couldn't imagine what for. Harry wondered then if she had known… because she hadn't seemed altogether surprised when Harry and Ron told her what had happened on the Astronomy Tower and before it.

Despite the relief of retrieving Slughorn's memory, and the madness of everything else that had gone on, a battle still raged inside his head: _Ginny or Ron_? He was aware that a selfish part of him still wanted Hermione to be with Ron. He'd been thrilled to hear of his break up with Lavender and to see his two friends grow close again. In a way, he supposed that if Ron had his happiness, then he would be more willing to allow Harry his.

But Malfoy had ruined that happiness, just like he ruined everything… except he had to admit— hadn't they all had their parts to play? Hermione, by lying. Ron, by running off to confront Malfoy, and Harry by using the Prince's spell. Ron, without saying so, had been furious with him for having hurt Hermione, whether it had been an accident or not and Harry was afraid now, more than ever, that Ron would consider it base treachery if Harry tried to take his happiness with Ginny while he was left tending to his wounds with Hermione.

And yet Harry could not help himself however much his conscience ached. He found himself wondering how best to get Ginny on her own; walking back with her from practice, sitting next to her for their meals, speaking to her with the pretense of it regarding the upcoming Quidditch game with Ravenclaw, any opportunity he'd take.

Once or twice Harry considered asking Hermione for her help, but he couldn't stand bringing it up while she was so _lost_. And that was the only way to describe how she seemed. Fine, but not altogether there, like she was daydream—

"The diary?" asked Hermione, breaking Harry from his reverie. "Tom Riddle's diary, you're sure it was a Horcrux? Dumbledore was certain?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, he said, "Yes Hermione, for the last time—"

"Flitwick," coughed Ron in a warning tone. The tiny little Charms master was bobbing his way toward them, and Hermione was the only one who had managed to turn vinegar into wine; her glass flask was full of deep crimson liquid, whereas the contents of Harry's and Ron's were still murky brown.

"Now, now, boys," squeaked Professor Flitwick reproachfully. "A little less talk, a little more action… Let me see you try…"

Together they raised their wands, concentrating with all their might, and pointed them at their flasks. Harry's vinegar turned to ice; Ron's flask exploded. After the initial shock, he looked to first Harry and then Hermione in a confused daze. Her mouth was pursed with a look of sympathy as she held back a smile.

"Yes… for homework," said Professor Flitwick, reemerging from under the table and pulling shards of glass out of the top of his hat, "practice."

They had one of their rare joint free periods after Charms and walked back to the common room together. Looking over at Hermione, who was chewing her lip, Harry thought she seemed upset, almost worried, to hear that the diary had been a Horcrux but he couldn't see why it would bother her so much. The diary had been destroyed and…

So immersed in his own thoughts, Harry barely noticed that they were climbing through the portrait hole into the sunny common room, and only vaguely registered the small group of seventh years clustered together there, until Hermione gave a small cry, "Katie!' she gasped. "You're back…"

Harry stared: It was indeed Katie Bell, looking completely healthy and surrounded by her jubilant friends.

"Are you okay?" asked Hermione slowly.

"I'm really well!" she replied happily. "They let me out of St. Mungos on Monday, I had a couple of days at home with Mum and Dad and then came back here this morning. Leanne was just telling me about McLaggen and the last match and…" Her eyes darted from Harry to Hermione dancing over her frame—looking for scars no doubt. "And the accident."

"Yeah," said Harry awkwardly, wanting very much to change the topic of conversation. "Well, now you're back. We still have a decent chance of beating Ravenclaw, which means we could still—"

"Do you remember who gave you the necklace?" interjected Hermione in one quick breath.

"No," said Katie, shaking her head ruefully as her friends started gathering up their things; apparently they were late for Transfiguration. "Everyone's been asking me, but I haven't got a clue. The last thing I remember was walking into the ladies' in the Three Broomsticks. I know I pushed open the door," she continued, "so I suppose whoever Imperiused me was standing just behind it. After that, my memory's a blank until about two weeks ago in St. Mungo's. Listen, I'd better go, I wouldn't put it past McGonagall to give me lines even if it is my first day back…"

"So you're okay then?" asked Hermione sounding relieved. "I-I'm glad."

Grabbing her bag and books she nodded cheerfully, before hurrying after her friends, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to sit down at a window table; Ron pondering out loud while Harry and Hermione sat in uncomfortable silence.

"So whoever cursed Katie was a girl," said Ron. "Otherwise wouldn't it have looked strange, a bloke going into the girl's bathroom?"

Harry's eyes darted to Hermione who was watching him from beneath her eyelashes, waiting for his reaction to Ron's statement—waiting for Harry to tell him that it was Malfoy, that Hermione herself had said he'd admitted so.

"I guess," murmured Harry, his gaze peering out the window as he was unable to look his best mate in the face as he lied to him. Except, he didn't really lie, because he didn't really know _how_ Malfoy had given Katie the necklace only that he'd been responsible. McGonagall herself had confirmed that he'd been in detention with her so…

There were still so many questions Harry needed answering but he wouldn't ask Hermione, at least, not yet. At first, he'd considered going to Dumbledore again—this time, dragging her along to confirm what Harry had told the professor earlier— that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. He'd even considered going to Lupin with the information but despite himself, Harry could not deny that whatever the Slytherin was; he made a terrible Death Eater.

By the time the curse had left Harry's lips, it had been too late and Hermione was already falling, slumping to the floor and Malfoy, for all his arrogance and swagger had simply crawled to her, her name a whisper on his lips, clawing to her, covered in her blood, as Harry, Ron and Snape dragged him away screaming. Then Professor Snape had cast a sleeping charm rendering him unconscious and Harry realized, like a stone in the pit of his stomach that Malfoy, given the choice, would've gladly taken the Sectumsempra curse instead.

And frighteningly, he was fairly certain Snape now knew too.

* * *

The balmy days slid gently through May, and Ron seemed to be there at Harry's shoulder every time he saw Ginny. He found himself longing for a stroke of luck that would somehow cause Ron to realize that nothing would make him happier than his best friend and his sister falling for each other and to leave them alone together for longer than a few seconds. There seemed no chance of either while the final Quidditch game of the season was looming; Ron wanted to talk tactics with Harry all the time and had little thought for anything else.

He wasn't unique in this respect; interest in the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game was running extremely high throughout the school, for the match would decide who won the Quidditch Cup. Slytherin's resounding victory in the match against Hufflepuff had come as a surprise to Harry and everyone else. It had dispirited him to hear of Malfoy catching the snitch, especially when he himself couldn't play the final match against Ravenclaw, but Ron was especially livid. It seemed to act as a personal reminder that Malfoy was capable of taking away, not only Hermione but anything else he wanted. As for Hermione herself, she said nothing regarding the Quidditch, nor did she ever tell them what had happened between her and Malfoy even though, by the dark circles under her eyes and the faraway expression on her face, it wasn't difficult to guess, that whatever it was, it hadn't been good.

And for a brief moment, Harry suspected that Ron believed he had won… until it became clear that the only thing their separation had proven was the depth of her affection for Malfoy. Whatever misery the blonde was putting her through, she was enduring it quietly. The gold bracelet still twinkled around her wrist, a declaration that nothing had changed and he often wondered when, if ever, she'd take it off.

Things only got worse from then on. On the day of the final game, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room from his detention with Professor Snape to find that they had lost the Quidditch Cup by a small margin of points. The atmosphere was solemn. Even Ginny was in a rather sour mood and later that evening, believing desert would cheer up Ron, they sat in the bustling Great Hall, Hermione next to him while Harry sat with Ginny.

"You played so well," said Hermione sincerely. "You're a great Keeper Ron."

Just then Harry's head snapped to the doors of the Dining Hall. A bunch of Slytherins had just sauntered in, headed by Urquhart holding the silver trophy high up in his arms taunting the Gryffindor team. A clamor of hoorah's echoed from the Slytherin table and across the Hall.

"Shouldn't they be in their common room throwing a victory party?" asked Neville in between mouthfuls.

Harry frowned, looking toward their table. "Why celebrate in the dungeons when they can gloat to everyone here instead?" he said with mock derision. Jabbing a potato with his fork he resumed sulking.

"Second place isn't bad," said Neville earnestly. "Especially since Harry wasn't seeker."

Ginny, to her credit, actually managed to smile and that smile was contagious. "That's true," said Harry. "You made a great substitute seeker Gin."

She turned to Harry watching him carefully. "Really?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied softly. "You're amazing."

Her eyes held his and his heart fluttered at the proximity of her sitting next to him and how incredible she was when she smiled. He glanced away quickly when he realized he'd been staring at her for too long and tried to act casually as he could feel everyone's eyes on them. Forcing himself, he raised his fork to his mouth and began to chew. Looking over at the Slytherin table, he noticed now that Malfoy was the only one in their year missing the revelry. Harry wondered for a brief moment as to where he was… he thought back to the potions class he'd had with Malfoy and Ernie yesterday while everyone else was taking their apparition tests. The Slytherin had looked quite pallid and quiet for someone who'd recently just caught the snitch and won his team the game. In fact, Malfoy had barely glanced in Harry's direction and seemed to be able to blend in with the ghosts around the castle.

His attention snapped back into the present as Zabini suddenly jumped up onto the table, his arms in the air with boastful pride. Nott, Pucey, Crabbe, Goyle and the others began sparking fireworks from their wand, one in particular that lit up the air in a violent burst of colorful light.

"Prancing peacock," huffed Ginny, making it a point to look anywhere other than at him.

Ron turned to look over his shoulder, shooting them a venomous glare. Pansy Parkinson's eyes twinkled with a malevolent gleam as she saw how much it was bothering Ron. Returning his icy stare, she brought her hands up and slammed her palms down onto the table, over and over, a steady beat beginning.

And then she began…

 _Weasley cannot save a thing,_

 _He cannot block a single ring,_

 _That's why Slytherins all sing:_

 _Weasley is our King._

The others began to join in and soon everyone who wasn't singing was either laughing or lighting more fireworks. Ron turned back around, growing, if possible, a special shade of red as the taunts became louder.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just ignore them," she muttered.

"She's right," sighed Harry. It wasn't even Ron's fault they'd lost. It was Snape's. He'd purposely selected the times when Ron had Quidditch practice for him to serve his detention and Ron had ended up missing five drills.

He mumbled something under his breath.

"What's that?" asked Harry as he watched Ron grip his fork till his knuckles went white.

"Said I fucking hate that Parkinson," gritted Ron.

Harry looked back over to the Slytherin table where she was. Her head was thrown back, the sound of her laughter like a vicious kick to the gut. The sound of it made Ron turn back around. Pansy caught his gaze once more, resting her chin on her hand, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face. Zabini who had settled back down in the seat next to her whispered something in her ear. Her smile widened into an overbearing grin, as she continued to taunt poor Ron. His friend was muttering something under his breath again but Harry didn't ask him to repeat himself this time. He'd heard the insult quite clearly.

In the midst of all his preoccupations with the loss of the Quidditch Cup and the discovery of the Horcruxes, Harry had not forgotten his other ambition: finding out what Malfoy was up to in the Room of Requirement. Just because he was keeping quiet about it, didn't mean he'd let it go.

He had continued to check the Marauder's Map, especially after Hermione had confirmed that Harry had been right about Malfoy taking the Dark Mark. So whenever he had the chance he'd take the map out and search for him… except he was unable to locate the slippery Slytherin on it anywhere. Harry had assumed that he couldn't find Malfoy because he was spending so much time in the room, but it was strange... at any given hour, whether at night or in between classes, he couldn't be seen on the map at all.

If Malfoy wasn't here in the Dining Hall, there was a chance it was because he was in the Room of Requirement at this very moment.

"Going to head back to the common room, see you guys in a bit?" said Harry as casually as he could.

Too busy brooding, Ron barely acknowledged his departure. Ginny and Hermione merely smiled and said they'd be up soon themselves.

Harry made his usual detour along the seventh-floor corridor, checking the Marauder's Map as he returned to Gryffindor tower. Once again he could not find Malfoy anywhere and assumed he must indeed be inside the Room of Requirement again. Pacing in front of the wall, Harry tried to get inside to catch him red-handed, but no matter how he reworded his request, the wall remained firmly doorless. Cursing out loud he took out the map again for answers. Nothing, he was nowhere to be found. Another thought suddenly came to him—that Hermione had done something to the map to shield Malfoy from appearing on it… but it didn't make sense because Ron had been able to find Malfoy that night and Harry had had the map with him the whole time after, so—

"Spying again Potter?"

Harry whirled around with the map in one hand and his wand held firmly in the other. Malfoy had been behind him and not seen or heard; nor had he appeared as a dot next to Harry on the map.

"How did you do that?" he blurted.

A lazy smirk tugged the side of his lip. "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice… not going to let Weasley or you get the drop on me again with that little map of yours."

The Slytherin, whose team had just won the Quidditch Cup did not look at all triumphant. His eyes were glazed, his lips bloodless and he seemed, Harry thought, tipsy. He took a quick glance at the map in his hand. Sure enough, Malfoy was not on there.

"She told you about the map?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer.

"Among other things."

Harry's eyes narrowed on the blonde as it dawned on him that Malfoy must've cloaked himself somehow from the map which was… annoyingly impressive.

"We need to talk," he said suddenly.

"I have nothing to say to you," spat Harry turning around to march off to the common room to give Hermione a piece of his mind. How could she betray him like that and tell Malfoy about the map, _Malfoy_ , of all people, a Death Eater no less, how could she—

" _Potter_ ," he sang out.

Harry whirled around, anger radiating off him in waves. "WHAT?" he yelled.

The blonde boy looked amused; a crooked smile on his face.

Harry wanted to hex it right off but then Malfoy drawled—

"Ever heard of a little thing called a Horcrux?"


	47. Surprises: Part II

_Previously..._

* * *

The blonde boy looked amused; a crooked smile on his face. Harry wanted to hex it right off but then Malfoy drawled—

"Ever heard of a little thing called a Horcrux?"

Harry was so taken aback, he almost flinched. Just how the hell did Malfoy know anything about a Horcrux after he'd spent months trying to get Slughorn to tell him?

"What do you want?" demanded Harry.

All amusement left Malfoy's face as though he had eaten something bitter. "I'd never want anything from you," he spat. "I _need_ something… your help."

It was Harry's turn to look amused. "Like I'd ever help you, Malfoy."

He cracked his knuckles like his hands had gone stiff and he was clenching and unclenching them. "Don't worry, Potter," he hummed in a languid tone. "You and I are going to be great friends. Now follow me, I have something to show you."

"If you think I'm stupid enough to—"

Malfoy let out an obnoxious chortle. "Is that really question?"

Harry threw him a menacing glare.

Rolling his eyes Malfoy whined like an insolent child, "Do you want to know what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement or not?"

Harry couldn't lie. That question hooked and reeled him in. "Lead the way," he said.

Without another quip, Malfoy stood opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. While he paced up and down three times in front of the blank wall, Harry thought of a number of spells he could use in case this was a trick, but then a door appeared and all thoughts were forgotten; consumed by the burning curiosity to finally discover what the Slytherin had been up to all this time.

"What is this place?" he asked in quiet awe as he walked behind Malfoy through the mountainous jumble of miscellaneous things; furniture, books, jewels, hats, cloaks, dusty bottles and rusting swords, an endless number of things.

"It's the Room of Hidden Things," replied Malfoy leading them to the Vanishing cabinet in which Montague had gotten stuck in last year. Harry watched as he whispered an intricate incantation, unlocking one of the cabinet doors and reached in to pull something out.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You brought me here to give me a tiara?" But before Harry could say more, Malfoy was offering it out to him and Harry's fingers flinched, reaching out to touch the scar on his forehead, almost as though he could feel the presence of something, or the ghost of it at least.

"It's… it-it's a Horcrux," stammered Harry barely able to conceal his astonishment.

It was Malfoy's turn to raise an eyebrow. "It was. It was also Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem… but how did you know?"

"The better question is how do you know about Horcruxes," he said, unwilling to tell Malfoy that his scar was slightly prickling. "Did your precious Dark Lord tell you?"

Malfoy looked unfazed.

"I know what you are and I know what you did. No one would believe me when I told them Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater…"

Harry allowed the statement to hang in the air but the Slytherin didn't seem at all surprised to find out that Harry knew.

After a moment he began to speak. "Voldemort is holding my mother hostage—"

"You almost killed Katie Bell!"

Malfoy's face darkened, seething. "And you almost killed Hermione."

Harry cringed at the mention of her and the soft way he spoke her name. "That was an accident."

Malfoy barked a hollow laugh. "Oh yes. I forgot you were trying to kill me instead."

"I wasn't trying to kill anyone!" retorted Harry in defense. "I didn't know what the spell would do."

"Eleven cuts, Potter," he said looking Harry dead in the eyes. "That's what your little spell did."

"Is that why I'm here Malfoy? Revenge?"

The blonde appraised Harry for a moment and then smirked as though he'd won. "That's the brilliant thing about guilt, Potter. It eats away at you, day and night—"

" _I didn't mean to_ ," hissed Harry, furious that he had to defend himself to this—this—this Death Eater.

"Funny," hummed Malfoy, his gaze unfocused and bleary. "That's what I told myself when I almost killed the Bell girl."

"She's back from St. Mungo's, Malfoy."

"I know."

Then Malfoy's eyes focused once again on Harry, as though brought back from his thoughts. "Are you going to tell her it was me?" he asked casually, as though asking for the time or talking about the weather.

"No," said Harry after a long pause and before he could ask him anything more, demanded, "Why am I here Malfoy? How do you know about Horcruxes?"

"I didn't at first but…" Malfoy faltered as though it was tiring to speak. "My father has made very questionable choices, choices that have landed him in Azkaban but make no mistake, Potter, he's a clever wizard and when Voldemort found out that the diary had been destroyed, he was punished severely for it.

"That was when he realized that it must've been more than a simple journal. During my last visit to Azkaban, my father told me everything… I think he was afraid that if he kept the secret to himself, it might die with him. It didn't take him long to piece it all together, to understand that the diary had been a Horcrux. Our library alone has extensive works on Dark magic, going backs centuries, and—"

"It's been destroyed," said Harry suddenly.

Malfoy looked at Harry in dazed confusion. "The library?" he clarified.

"No, the horcrux!" Harry snapped. "You destroyed the Horcrux— but how?"

In a slow careful gesture, Malfoy took out a small vial hidden somewhere on his person.

"What is that?"

"Basilisk venom."

His eyes slid from the murky poison to Malfoy's eyes. Something tugged at his memory, something small but significant... Hermione... she had asked him for the password to get into the chamber of secrets. She'd tricked Harry so that Malfoy could go down into the Chamber of Secrets and extract Basilisk Venom. The same thing he used to destroy the diary.

"If he finds out you did this, he'll kill you."

Malfoy gave a casual shrug. "You mean _if_ he finds out." And despite his efforts to remain nonchalant, Harry could hear the fear in the Slytherin's voice.

Then before he could fully grasp just how deep Malfoy's feelings for Hermione ran, to defy the Dark Lord, he was saying, "And I can tell you where another is."

Harry must have had an incredulous look on his face because Malfoy was wearing the most arrogant grin.

"I told you, Potter, you and I are going to be great friends."

"What's the catch?" he scowled.

"Well," intoned the blonde. "Friends help each other, don't they?"

"What do you want?"

"Your help to execute a plan. And then when all this is over, I want protection from the Order—for me and my mother— a pardon... and I want my father out of Azkaban."

Harry grit his teeth. "No," he ground out. Lucius Malfoy had gotten away with far too much. He'd hurt Ginny, almost killed her and that thought alone... "He tried to kill at us the Ministry, he almost killed Ginny—"

"I'll make certain—"

"As if you have any control over what your father does!"

"Once Voldemort is dead he'll have no reason to go after you or anyone else, and besides," said Malfoy in a smooth drawl. "He'll forever be indebted to me for arranging his freedom from Azkaban. I think most people would consider that a life-debt, wouldn't you?"

Harry felt that Malfoy was manipulating him, swaying him with his words.

"You've got it all worked out, haven't you Malfoy?"

"The sooner you can kill Voldemort the—"

"The sooner you can have Hermione all to yourself and be rid of all the people in your way. Including your father who will," as he had put it, " _forever be indebted to you."_

Malfoy glared at Harry coldly.

"No," Harry began to say. "No way—"

"I can give you Death Eaters," added Malfoy quickly before he could deny him again. "My aunt Bellatrix will be one of them… I believe you have a score to settle with her."

"How?" he scoffed. How could Malfoy possibly arrange that? Bellatrix might be a lunatic but she was a powerful witch.

"I'm going to let them into the castle with the pretense of completing the mission I was given upon my Death Eater initiation: kill Albus Dumbledore—and you Potter, will stop me."

"That's insane!" he spat. "What you're saying is—"

" _Potter_ ," purred Malfoy. "What if I told you, you could prove Severus Snape to be the duplicitous snake that he is, once and for all?"

Harry's eyes narrowed in doubt.

"If I fail to kill Dumbledore, Snape will try to do it in my stead."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because he made an Unbreakable Vow to carry out the task I was given if I was to fail. If he breaks that Vow he's as good as dead. It's his life or Dumbledore's."

Harry's mind recalled the snippets of conversation he'd overheard the night of Slughorn's Christmas party.

 _If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you._

He knew Snape had vowed to protect him but not to kill Dumbledore if all else failed… Harry raised his eyes to meet Malfoy's. "You really have worked out everything," he whispered in disbelief. Then he was shaking his head. No, no this was all too risky. "Why not go straight to Dumbledore with this?" he asked. "We can go, together, now and—"

"Because Dumbledore trusts Snape and I don't."

Harry paused. "Me neither," he admitted.

"Merlin Potter, something we can finally agree on."

"But I don't exactly trust you either," finished Harry.

Malfoy looked irritated. "I destroyed the Diadem, didn't I? Looks like we're one-for-one Potter." Harry loathed to admit it but that was true. Malfoy had found and destroyed a Horcrux and there was no coming back from that and still… Snape had taken the Vow to protect Malfoy and Malfoy was ensuring his death. What did that say about Malfoy as a person? Harry himself hated Snape but… what if he was wrong, what if—

"Merlin, I'd thought you'd jump at the chance to see Snape buried, especially after what he did."

Harry's head snapped up so fast he felt his neck crick. "What he did…?"

Malfoy's lips pulled down into an ugly frown. "You don't know?" he spat; the disgust of Harry's ignorance plain on his face. "These people who protect you don't tell you much do they, Potter?"

"Spit it out," barked Harry who was losing his patience.

Malfoy's voice dropped to a whisper. "The way my mother tells it, my father is in Azkaban because he failed to retrieve a prophecy... the same prophecy Severus Snape told the Dark Lord of, all those years ago... the same prophecy that made you _the Boy-who-lived_..."

Harry had stopped breathing. He was standing stock-still as waves of shock crashed over him, wave after wave, obliterating everything except the knowledge of what had truly happened. It had been Snape who had learned of the prophecy. It had been Snape who had carried the news of the prophecy to Voldemort. Snape and Peter Pettigrew together had sent Voldemort hunting after his mother and father…

"Potter?"

Nothing else mattered to Harry just now. "I have to go," he said through numb lips.

"Potter?" said Malfoy again, this time in warning. "Where do you think you're going?"

But Harry's feet were taking him away, almost running and— OOMMPFH!

Harry had the wind knocked out of him and the room filled with the cling and clang of falling objects as Malfoy tackled Harry into a pile of junk.

"Get off me!" cried Harry, kicking and struggling aimlessly. His anger had taken over every part of him.

"Think Potter, THINK!" bellowed Malfoy. "Don't go running off like some half-cocked imbecile."

Harry was panting, his chest heaving, on the verge of tears. How could Dumbledore trust Snape—have let him teach here—after knowing what he'd done to his parents!

"Potter, listen to me," said Malfoy sharply, his eyes honed in on Harry's. "I'm going to get off you, and you can do either one of two things: be the reckless Gryffindor that you are, which will likely amount to nothing, or you can be patient, play your cards right and we'll both get what we want.

"Consider this my gift to you Potter… a peace offering. All you have to do is alert the Aurors beforehand and your Order fellows will have five more Death Eaters back in Azkaban. Surely you don't want to miss out on a little retribution for your parents and Sirius Black."

Harry thought for a long while. Malfoy was offering him Bellatrix, and Snape, so he could have Hermione. That was the truth behind it all, the true bargain, the unspoken clause. His breath evened out as he calmed, trying to think rationally. Malfoy was doing this for his own self-preservation, his own gain, but if Harry agreed, the plan itself was brilliant. He knew it was a risk trusting Malfoy, but the idea of capturing Bellatrix, and proving to Dumbledore that Snape was a traitor—it wasn't an opportunity he could let slip through his fingers and after all, Malfoy had destroyed a Horcrux.

Except... except there was a huge gaping hole in his plan.

"Just how do you plan on bringing in Death Eaters into Hogwarts? It's practically impenetrable."

A triumphant smirk spread slowly across Malfoy's face as he climbed off Harry. He knew he'd succeeded in convincing him to agree to set a trap for the Death Eaters, as well as the other unspoken stipulations to their agreement.

"Honestly Potter, must I think of everything?" he mocked playfully, offering out a hand to help him up. Harry didn't take it. "I suppose I have to be the brains _and_ the beauty," he said letting his arm fall to his side. "You can be the—"

"Malfoy," warned Harry, raising himself up.

"Montague's vanishing cabinet," he said quickly without skipping a beat.

His brow furrowed piecing it together, finally understanding what Malfoy had been doing in the room all these months. All the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

"But it's broken," he realized.

Malfoy took a deep breath. "It has been remade."

Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Is that… is that a line from Lord of the Rings?"

His smile grew like a Cheshire cat. "Here," said Malfoy handing Harry a small gold coin on a loose chain. "Take this." For a moment he recognized it as one of the coins Hermione had created last year for the DA members. "Wear it at all times. When it turns hot call your Order lot. Look to the sky for the Dark Mark. Curse me, disarm me, I don't care, just make it look real because there's likely to be an audience so stay in character."

"I'll warn Remus beforehand, he can—"

"No," snapped Malfoy. "No one other than the two of us can know. Not even Weasley. If Voldemort so much as suspects my disloyalty, he'll kill my mother."

"But I thought—"

"NO! The order can't help her! No one can, not right now at least. He has her trapped in the Manor. I was supposed to get her out but the sick bastard is using our own blood wards to keep her in there. I should've acted sooner, but I…" Malfoy faltered, his hands running through his hair furiously.

Harry took a moment to process how twisted that was, even for Voldemort; to keep a mother imprisoned in her own home while her son was sent on a suicide mission. Then something occurred to him. "Won't Voldemort be angry that you not only failed to kill Dumbledore but also got other Death Eaters captured?"

"He'll be furious," laughed Malfoy, his eyes lighting with genuine mirth. "But I'll be long gone."

Suited him just fine for Malfoy to disappear but something bothered him about all this. "Gone where?" demanded Harry.

"Nowhere. I'll be dead."

" _Dead_?" Harry all but shouted.

"Fiendfyre," clipped Malfoy. "While the Aurors round up the Death Eaters I'm going to escape through the vanishing cabinet, but as far as everyone else is concerned, I died, burned to a cinder."

"And you expect people to just believe that?"

"They will," he said with confidence. "Because that's what you'll tell them."

"W-wait," said Harry putting his hands up. This was madness. They were in way over their heads. Sure, he'd been in much more dangerous situations before but he'd never planned to put himself there in advance.

"What about your mother?" he blurted. "Won't she be in danger?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Voldemort won't kill her. When he gave me this mission, he never expected me to succeed. My death is the punishment he was hoping to inflict on my family. He'll take great pleasure in witnessing her grief and you can't suffer when you're dead now, can you Potter?"

Harry's head was spinning. Malfoy had designed things with perfect intricacy. If one thing went wrong, it'd upend everything.

"Does Hermione know about this?" he asked.

He watched as the Slytherin's jaw clenched and unclenched, how his eyes were glistening. Speaking her name alone seemed to be able to injure him and Harry thought, with incredulity, that given the right words, he could make Draco Malfoy cry and that wasn't something he particularly wanted to see again.

"No," he confessed softly. "She knows nothing of this. Not even the Basilisk venom."

Harry was looking at Malfoy with reproach in his eyes. "You're just going to let her think you're dead?"

"I don't have a choice!" he shouted, whirling on Harry. "It's too dangerous for everyone."

Harry scowled. "And you claim to love her."

Malfoy stepped into Harry, who was only taller than him by an inch but at the moment seemed to have grown another foot. "Make no mistake Potter, when all this is over, when you finally kill Voldemort— _and you will kill him_ —I will come back for her and she will understand that everything I have done, I have done for her."

Harry saw the resolution on his face and despite everything else he felt about Malfoy, he couldn't help but nod; a slow, hesitant nod but relenting all the same. A moment later the blonde had composed himself, a blank expression on his face. "Now I don't know how many other Horcruxes there are exactly, but—"

"There are seven," said Harry.

" _Seven_?" balked Malfoy, losing that composure quickly. "I never imagined—I thought… it makes sense though. Seven is a powerful number."

Harry nodded quickly. He knew all of this, Dumbledore had explained as much. He was far too excited to go through everything again. "So between Dumbledore, you and I, we've destroyed three: the diary, the diadem, and a ring—there's a ring."

"The snake, Nagini," said Malfoy with some urgency. "I have no proof but I'm sure of it… I can almost taste the dark magic."

Harry's eyes narrowed in thought and as if it confirmed that it must be true he said softly, "Dumbledore thinks so too…"

"And I might know of another," he added. "When my father was given the diary to keep, he also gave something to Aunt Bellatrix. I don't know what exactly but I'm sure she still has it. It might be—"

"A horcrux?" asked Harry doubtfully. "That's grasping at straws."

"Maybe," he admitted. "But if it is, I know where she's kept it."

Harry listened intently.

"Before my father gave the diary to Ginny Weasley he kept it in the family vault at Gringotts. My aunt would've done the same."

"How can you be so sure?" he challenged.

Malfoy shrugged as if the answer was obvious. "She wouldn't have kept it in the Lestrange Manor for an elf, or for her husband Rodolphus to find. She has this twisted obsession with the Dark Lord. She would have kept it somewhere only she had access to. Also, the Lestrange Manor was searched several times by the ministry when they were arrested and we never heard of anything being found. Father knew there'd be similar searches of our estate. It's why he never hid the diary there. Trust me, whatever Voldemort gave her is in her vault—unless he's taken it back."

"Right," said Harry uncertainly. He wasn't entirely convinced that Bellatrix Lestrange had a Horcrux hidden away in Gringotts, neither was he comforted by the thought of it being true. If anything was in her vault it would be impossible to get to. He hoped for their sake that Malfoy was wrong.

"Anything else?" he asked.

Malfoy seemed to deflate. "No," he said rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. "I thought he'd made three, maybe four, but never seven."

Harry cleared his throat. "Listen," he began hesitantly. "We have a deal... but... even if I wanted to— _and I don't_ — I can't promise that they'll release your father. The most I can do is vouch for you and your mother, the rest is up to the Ministry."

With his fists clenched tightly, the blonde boy, who Harry barely recognized at that point said, "Alright Potter," cracking his knuckles again as if a nervous tick. "We have a deal… This will be the last time we meet. Don't try to contact or speak to me. There are eyes everywhere in the castle. All you have to do is wait for my signal. Hang on to that coin with your life because it won't be long."

Harry nodded in agreement and put the chain around his neck and under his clothes to hide it from view. Sensing the ensuing awkwardness, he began to leave.

"Wait," called out Malfoy. He turned with trepidation. Harry was scared and excited all at once. If it worked, it'd be a huge blow to Voldemort but if he stuck around any longer he'd lose his nerve.

"I want you to give this to Hermione."

Harry stared at the offending object that Malfoy had pulled out from the pocket of his robes. Shaking his head, he said no. He couldn't be encouraging this, whatever this was between them, they were only prolonging the inevitable; Malfoy was leaving and… Harry didn't know how things would turn out. Malfoy might never come back, Harry himself might die; Voldemort was growing more and more powerful by the day… but then Malfoy said a word Harry thought would never pass his lips.

"Please," he said pushing it into his chest. "Just give it to her, alright? When I'm gone?"

"What is it?" asked Harry taking the brown paper parcel.

Malfoy, if Harry could believe it, gave a shy smile. "A book, Potter. What else..."

Harry offered out his hand, not out of sympathy or a gesture of friendship but because Harry knew the courage it took to defy Voldemort. "I'll see you on the other side Malfoy."

He took it hesitantly as if perhaps it might be a trick but then a moment later the two boys were shaking hands; both looking skeptical of each other. Then they let go of their grasp, determined expressions on both their faces.

"Take care of her Potter," said Malfoy. "Don't let her do anything brave."

Harry gave no reply but understood the unspoken promise he was making. There was anguish in Malfoy's eyes, a forlorn resignation that told Harry that he had also considered that perhaps, he would never come back, that like all other Death Eaters who had forsaken Voldemort, he'd be killed too, or worse…


	48. Surprises: Part III

_Four Years Later…_

* * *

Hermione squinted at the ray of sunlight falling upon her face in the early morning. She'd come to hate the sunrise wondering how on earth she'd ever once had the energy to get up and study before the crack of dawn. Slowly but surely she was becoming a night owl preferring the shade of the dark to the clarity of the day's brightness. Grumbling she realized she had no choice but to get up if she wanted to cook breakfast and make it for her shift on time. Muggle transport wasn't as nearly as reliable as using the floo or a portkey but a muggle job meant she was a muggle again in many ways. It was all for her parents, all for them, she recited to herself during these particularly confronting sunrises. She wrapped a robe hanging on her doorknob around her to keep the chill away. Perhaps she'd make pancakes and begin today on a fresh note. The weather was pleasant and her work was rewarding. While Hermione took out the ingredients to make the batter she began to list the several things she was grateful for in her life. Rainbows, chocolate frogs, Ginny, Luna, her friends, Theo— Her mind paused as she reached for the flour. Theodore…

A loud pop gave Hermione a sudden frightful start. "Ron—Harry!" she exclaimed her hand to her throat. "What have I told you about using the doorbell?"

The two boys looked rather rattled, neither greeting her in the usual manner. Ron was surveilling her living room furniture as though it'd spring to life at any moment. "Well we just thought we'd drop by," he murmured distracted by the lamp on the desk.

"Hermione," said Harry softly. "Can we sit down for a minute?"

She frowned at their bizarre behavior. Removing her apron and putting it back, she pulled out a chair and took a seat at the small kitchen table. Harry sat next to her but her ginger friend continued circling her living room furniture casting a suspicious eye toward everything.

"What the devil are you doing?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Nothing, nothing," he mumbled, glancing up at her. "Just… checking."

"Hermione," said Harry stirring her attention away from Ron. "We have something to tell you."

"Oh God, it's not about Mundungus Fletcher, is it? Because Ron's already given me a long—"

"No, no," interrupted Harry. "That's… well it's not fine, you should've really reported him but—" Ron cleared his throat and Harry's green eyes darted between them. "—that's not important, forget that." He paused again taking her hands in his. "Something's happened... Corban Yaxley was found dead in New York."

She wrenched her hands from Harry's, her lips parted in what he thought was genuine surprise. "Oh," she said clutching tightly to her bathrobe. " _How_?"

"Murdered," added Ron, watching her carefully. "You haven't read about it in the papers this morning?"

His hand was gripping the chair so hard his knuckles were turning white. "No," she said clearing her throat. "Late start this morning."

"Show her," he said to Harry, with a jerk of his head.

Harry took the folded newspaper out from his robes, looking sickly as he unrolled it. Hermione's gaze fell to the newspaper as she ran her palm over the front page, over an old photo of Draco. She stared at it for a long time but her eyes couldn't read past the byline— _Draco Malfoy at Large & Alive. _Seconds passed, maybe minutes, perhaps hours and her eyes didn't move...

"Hermione, are you—"

"It's not him," she said looking up at them. Harry was about to speak but Ron beat him to it.

"How can you be sure?" he asked in a diplomatic manner.

Hermione's gaze went back to the newspaper. Slowly, she stood, pacing the small space of the apartment while reading the article quietly. This time forcing her eyes to go past the byline. After a few minutes, she tossed the newspaper onto the kitchen table and said bluntly, "I'm sure because Draco is dead." Then she turned away from them both and began to occupy herself with putting the ingredients away. There would be no pancakes today.

"You don't have to do that by hand you know," said Ron gently.

She threw him a soft smile. "I prefer it."

Harry was the one to break the silence first. "Hermione, the MO is the same."

"Probably a copycat," she replied hearing the clinical tone of her voice. "I imagine there are many who would want Corban Yaxley dead—"

"But—"

"Makes sense really," she went on coolly. "Everyone knows what Draco did… the murders before… funny how murder makes you famous—well I suppose not funny ha-ha but… have you heard of the copycat effect? Some sick wizard probably thinks he'll get his picture plastered all over Wizarding Britain—and a book deal. Rita Skeeter will probably give him one too—"

"But Hermione," pressed Harry. "What about his signature—?"

"That's probably where he got the details from in the first place" she continued. "From that awful book Skeeter wrote—I say _he_ , although it might be a witch—statistically female serial killers tend to use more—oh well actually, there was this one case—"

"Hermione, STOP!" yelled Harry so abruptly that even Ron himself had flinched.

" _Harry_ ," he warned.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, collapsing down onto the couch, rubbing the scar on his forehead. Hermione wasn't certain who he was apologizing to. "I just… we need you to understand that there is a strong possibility that Malfoy is alive."

Her jaw clenched but she said nothing and then Harry's eyes went to the sleeve of her left forearm where the fuzzy material of the bathrobe hid her mutilated skin and she tucked her hands into her chest feeling exposed.

Ron looked to her apologetically. "We have orders to bring him in, Hermione."

She simply stared out of her kitchen window. "It's not him," she murmured. "It's not."

"Kingsley's given us orders to handle the situation," he added softly. "We have Aurors watching over you."

"Who?" she demanded angrily, her eyes darting between the two of them.

"Matthews & Leto," supplied Harry. "We won't be far away either."

She folded her arms in a defensive stance. "I don't need protection."

Ron's gaze was unwavering. "You're the first person he'd want to see," he explained. "It's not protection."

She pursed her lips, a hint of a smile. " _Right_ ," she laughed, a strange hysterical tinkling. "Well, I'm going to get ready and go do my job. I suggest you boys do yours instead of chasing ghosts."

Harry opened his mouth to speak but before he could so much as breathe a word, Hermione had rounded on him, screaming. "Draco is dead Harry! Greyback admitted to having killed him and to having thrown his body into the ocean— _under Veritaserum_ —and how dare you let Kingsley print this-this... slander!" She picked up the newspaper once more crushing it into her hands and pushed it into Harry's chest. " _The Mudblood Lover Returns_."

He cringed. "Hermione, he's the Minister, I couldn't—"

"Fuck you, Harry. Fuck you and Kingsley and the bloody Ministry!"

They both flinched from her as if she were unhinged but it was Harry who was looking at her as if he'd stepped into a devil's snare.

"Do you think this is the way I want people to remember him!" she hissed. "Do y—?"

And then suddenly Harry was screaming back and Hermione could hear the heavy pounding pulse of her heart as he spoke. "People call him the Mudblood Lover because that's what he carved onto his victim's arms—!"

"WELL, MAYBE THEY DESERVED IT!"

Her chest was heaving and she thought she'd throw up bile from the way her body was shuddering. Swallowing it down she chanced a look at Ron whose face had gone deadly white. "You don't mean that," whispered Harry, shaking his head slowly. She looked back to Ron whose body had gone rigid, his eyes to the floor avoiding her gaze as if he couldn't stand to be involved in this, not again.

Hermione marched up to her bedroom, slamming the door hard behind her because she didn't know what she meant anymore except that she needed to get ready for her shift. Draco was dead but her parents weren't and only she could get them to remember. With a numb kind of facility, Hermione brushed her teeth, showered and changed. Her shift wasn't for another half hour but she couldn't stomach the idea of eating anything. Opening her bedroom door to leave the apartment she came to a halt to see Ron was still there, seated at the kitchen table two cups of cold tea in front of him.

"Hey," he said with a sheepish half-smile. "I was hoping we could talk."

"I already told you," she said in a cold voice. "It's not him."

"That's not," he faltered taking a deep breath. "It's about me."

That gave her pause and she studied his earnest countenance realizing something was wrong, other than everything else in her life that was wrong. Wrong, wrong, screaming and howling wrong.

"What is it?" she asked taking a seat next to him. "Is it Gin, or—?"

"Everyone is fine," he reassured her quickly knowing the trauma, the natural paranoia that settled, leaving them all wondering what awful thing might befall them next if they let their guard down.

Ron looked into his cup of tea. "It's about Pansy Pa—Zabini," he corrected. "It's about her."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed trying to think of the last time she'd seen Pansy. They were somewhat, she would've liked to say friends, but she wasn't entirely sure what to call their amiability. Before she could press what it was, Ron said, "I did something stupid Hermione, you know how sometimes I do stupid things without thinking, you know I, I don't mean to, I don't _think_ , I just do."

She tried to piece together what this was all about but he wasn't making sense. "You can tell me," she said softly. After everything they'd been through together Ron was… she loved him entirely and wanted him to be happy and felt that lately, he had been. He was always in such a good mood, always smiling, almost at peace… "What's wrong Ron?"

The redhead lifted his gaze from his empty teacup. "No one knows," he said. "Not even Harry. But… but you'd understand, you'd understand how sometimes things are just a certain way."

"Understand what?" she asked a little more impatiently. "What's going on that—"

And then it hit her like a ton of bricks. "Ron, are you…" Hermione could not finish the question, too afraid of the answer.

He was holding his head in his hands, his elbows on the table utterly defeated. "It was just once and then… I love her, Hermione. I love her so much it's… it's bursting out of me."

She stood, the chair scraping against the ground. Taking their cups to the kitchen sink she poured her untouched tea down the drain and rinsed them with washing liquid.

"Say something," he whispered after a minute. "Tell me what to do. Every time she goes back to him…"

She turned around her bare hands still covered in suds. "You mean every time she goes back to her _husband_ ," she corrected scathingly.

Ron's expression hardened, a disappointed frown marring his face. "I thought you of all people would understand."

"Understand infidelity?" she huffed picking up the washcloth to dry the cups. "No, I'm sorry Ron, I don't."

"No," he clipped. "Not that—that you'd understand that some things are out of your control. _Feelings_ are out of your control."

She whirled on him clutching the washcloth in her hand. "Really?" she challenged. "Are you really still using Draco against—"

"I'm not talking about him," he said evenly, without a trace of anger in his voice. "I'm talking about Nott."

Hermione thought she felt her heart fall to her gut. Ron merely watched her with a steady gaze.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said rolling her eyes, trying to feign ignorance and began folding the washcloth into a small square.

"I overheard you two speaking at the Memorial Ball."

Hermione's face suddenly twisted into an ugly sneer losing the neat fold of the material. "You were spying on me?" she hissed.

"No," he said softly. "It was by chance…"

Her expression fell. "It wasn't… he was very drunk and I was worried so I…" she wavered feeling weary. "He didn't know what he was saying, he was drunk— _confused_."

"What was he confused about?"

"I barely see the man!" she barked tossing the washcloth onto the table angrily. "Let it go, Ronald!"

But he wouldn't. He just wouldn't leave well enough alone.

"Is there something going on between you and Nott?"

"No," she replied heatedly, her hands beginning to wash the cups once again in her agitation. "There isn't."

"Hermione, there is an official murder investigation—"

"And what the hell does any investigation have to do with my personal life?" she snapped, flinging her hands from the sink, water dripping onto the clean floor.

"Everything," he deadpanned. "If Malfoy is alive—and I believe he is—it's not safe for Nott."

"I told you," she whimpered; desperation so thick in her voice, it broke. "Draco is not alive, please stop saying he is because he's not—he's dead and Nott—!"

"Then what did it mean?" pressed Ron, raising his voice.

"What did _what_ mean?" she yelled back in exasperation.

He folded his arms across his chest unyielding. "What did Nott mean when he said he doesn't know if it's better or worse when you stay away?"

Hermione pursed her lips staring unflinchingly. Ron had heard everything and she was at a loss for what to say. He stood slowly and placed his hands on her shoulders looking her square in the eyes. "No one would blame you…not after everything you've—"

"I would," she confessed softly. "I'd blame me."

He shook his head looking at her with such pity it burned her. "You aren't responsible for what happened."

"But aren't I?" she asked in a childlike voice.

" _Voldemort_ ," he hissed with a sudden ferocity, "is responsible... none of it was your fault."

Then he wrapped his big arms around her small frame holding her tightly till her body stopped trembling. Hermione was grateful that after releasing her, Ron didn't comment again on the conversation he'd overheard between her and Theo, opting instead to explain how the affair between _Mrs. Zabini_ and he had started. But then Ron told her how he'd proposed to the married woman last night and Hermione surrendered to the fact that today was a doomed day and pancakes, no matter how delicious, would never make it better.


	49. The Fault in Our Stars

Draco sat hunched forward with his head in his hands. He could no longer bear to look at the Vanishing Cabinet after having finally fixed it. The Dark Mark was beginning to burn more and more frequently lately—different now, like angry fire ants running down his skin. It had been itching so violently this morning he had to apply a special salve for scrapes and cuts his mother had brewed herself.

She'd insisted he take some of it, including pepper-up potion and a small vial of sleeping draught to Hogwarts this year. And though he had complained that he was able to take care of himself, he thanked Merlin she had added a salve; the sleeping draught over within the first few weeks of school. His mother, of course, couldn't have anticipated the never-ending nightmares and the torturous reminders Voldemort would inflict upon him. He himself couldn't stand to look at the Dark Mark, or rather the state of his arm, marred and inflamed by cutting at it and then his master's repetitive ire at not completing his task.

All of a sudden Draco heard a noise. He snapped his head up and tilted his ear toward the other end of the room where the entrance was. Someone had just entered the Room of Hidden Things. He made his way through the stacks of dusty old objects with caution. He considered drawing his wand in case it was Potter. He'd told the fool not to come back, not to try to speak to him, so why would he be here, unless to betray him, to destroy the cabinet and throw him and his family to the wolves—or more specifically, to Voldemort's pet snake.

He heard the echo of glass clinking and the shuffle of feet. Stepping back quietly, he crouched behind a clutter of old broken furniture, his wand drawn, waiting patiently, bidding his time. If it was Potter, then he'd disarm him, he'd—and then just like that, he heard the door close again quietly.

Whoever had entered had come in only for a moment, for whatever reason and then they'd gone.

Draco let out a breath of relief. He'd understood the risks when he'd confided in Potter and couldn't believe the irony of having to trust the one person who he'd not only despised but who was responsible for his father's imprisonment and the predicament he was now in because of it. And the only person he truly wished to have here with him had to be kept as far away from him as possible. Except she was never far enough. He had had to endure seeing her, everywhere. In his dreams, in his waking nightmares, in class and the corridors, in glimpses and stolen glances. And he missed the small things he hadn't even noticed while he was with her; the way her fingers ran over parchment, the way her curls would tighten and spring up as her hair went from wet to dry, the tip of her nose softly brushing against his; an Eskimo kiss she'd once said. Hermione was if nothing, affectionate. Even after breaking up she still insisted on loving him. Hadn't been able to stomach the idea of sitting in the stands at the Quidditch match but had shown her presence in some other way.

After he'd caught the snitch and won his house's praise, Draco had stayed behind in the Slytherin changing rooms till everyone else had left. He'd stepped into the showers, wrapped his arms around himself, curled into a ball against the wall and cried. He had finally caught the snitch, besting Potter, most likely winning Slytherin the Quidditch Cup, and he couldn't care less about any of it; could only listen to that voice, that gut feeling that told him he would not get to see his father again, would not get to bring his mother those chocolates she liked… and he would never—not in this lifetime, or any other—be with Hermione, because he knew with certainty that he would die. The only question now was who he would take with him.

Draco took the coin out from underneath his robes knowing he could not afford to wait any longer.

It was time.

* * *

Harry knew it had worked before he opened his eyes: the smell of salt, the sea breeze had gone. He and Dumbledore were shivering and dripping in the middle of the dark High Street in Hogsmeade. For one horrible moment, Harry's imagination showed him more Inferi creeping towards him around the sides of shops, but he blinked and saw that nothing was stirring; all was still, the darkness complete but for a few street lamps and lit upper windows.

"We did it, Professor!" Harry whispered with difficulty; he suddenly realized that he had a searing stitch in his chest. "We did it! We got the Horcrux!"

Dumbledore staggered against him. For a moment, Harry thought that his inexpert Apparition had thrown Dumbledore off-balance; then he saw his face, paler and damper than ever in the distant light of a streetlamp.

"Sir, are you all right?"

"I've been better," said Dumbledore weakly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "That potion… was no health drink…" And to Harry's horror, Dumbledore sank on to the ground.

"Sir—it's okay, sir, you're going to be all right, don't worry!"

He looked around desperately for help, but there was nobody to be seen and all he could think was that he must somehow get Dumbledore quickly to the hospital wing. He should've told Malfoy that Dumbledore had found another Horcrux but he'd hesitated. Perhaps it was the part that still didn't trust Malfoy or the part that remembered his warning— _Don't try to contact or speak to me. There are eyes everywhere in the castle—_ and he had left, only to tell Ron and Hermione he was leaving the castle while he was grabbing his Invisibility Cloak.

"We need to get you up to the school, sir," decided Harry. "Madam Pomfrey…"

"No," said Dumbledore. "It is… Professor Snape whom I need… but I do not think… I can walk very far just yet…"

"Right—sir, listen—I'm going to knock on a door, find a place you can stay—then I can run and get Madam—"

"Severus," said Dumbledore clearly. "I need Severus…"

"All right then," lied Harry. "But I'm going to have to leave you for a moment so I can—"

Before Harry could make a move, however, he heard running footsteps. His heart leapt: somebody had seen, somebody knew they needed help — and looking around he saw Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street towards them on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing-gown embroidered with dragons.

"I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn't think what to—but what's wrong with Albus?"

She came to a halt, panting, and stared down, wide-eyed, at Dumbledore.

"He's hurt," said Harry. "Madam Rosmerta, can he come into the Three Broomsticks while I go up to the school and get help for him?"

"You can't go up there alone! Don't you realize—haven't you seen—?"

"If you help me support him," said Harry, not listening to her, "I think we can get him inside—"

"What has happened?" asked Dumbledore. "Rosmerta, what's wrong?"

"The Dark Mark, Albus."

Harry's blood ran cold as he followed to where she was pointing to, in the direction of the castle. There it was, hanging in the sky above the school: the blazing green skull with a serpent tongue, the mark Malfoy said he would leave to signal to Harry where he and other Death Eaters would be. But the coin—it hadn't… Dread filled him as his hand scrambled across his chest and around his neck.

The necklace and the coin which hung from it was gone.

Where it was now, he could only guess, was at the bottom of that deadly black lake or in the hands of an Inferi who had surely ripped it off of him while he was trying to escape. And he hadn't called the Aurors or alerted anyone to the Death Eaters Malfoy was bringing into the castle which meant that—

"When did it appear?" demanded Harry in an urgent panic as Dumbledore struggled to his feet.

"Must have been minutes ago, it wasn't there when I put the cat out, but when I got upstairs —"

"We need to return to the castle at once," said Dumbledore.

"No!" cried Harry almost startling both Rosmerta and Dumbledore who was already looking weak. "It's Malfoy—he's brought Death Eaters into the castle—Bellatrix—"

"Harry—"

"No, it is!" he insisted. "He's brought Bellatrix! He—" Harry had a role to play. "He's trying to kill you, Sir. We can't go alone, we need help!"

Madam Rosmerta had her hand to her throat in disbelief and Dumbledore's eyes were fixed onto him as though he could see more than what Harry was saying. "Rosmerta," he said though he staggered a little, he seemed wholly in command of the situation. "Send a message to the Ministry for the Aurors—Harry and I will go now but we need transport—brooms—"

"I've got a couple behind the bar," she said, looking very frightened. "Shall I run and fetch—?"

"No, Harry can do it."

Harry raised his wand at once and _accio_ -ed the brooms to him. Two brooms had shot out into the street and were racing each other to Harry's side, where they stopped dead, quivering slightly, at waist height.

"And Rosmerta, do hurry," he smiled, as he mounted the broom nearest him. "It might be that nobody within Hogwarts has yet realized anything is wrong… Harry, put on your Invisibility Cloak."

Harry pulled his Cloak out of his pocket and threw it over himself before mounting his broom; Madam Rosmerta was already tottering back towards her pub as Harry and Dumbledore kicked off from the ground and rose up into the air. As they sped towards the castle, Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, ready to grab him should he fall, but the sight of the Dark Mark seemed to have acted upon Dumbledore like a stimulant: he was bent low over his broom, his eyes fixed upon the Mark, his long silver hair and beard flying behind him in the night air. And Harry, too, looked ahead at the skull, and fear swelled inside him. Not only was Dumbledore's life on the line, but Malfoy's too. For Harry had already failed him by doing the one thing he was asked NOT to do. Draco's words came back to him...

 _Hang on to that coin with your life._

* * *

As they flew over the dark, twisting lane down which they had walked earlier, Harry heard, over the whistling of the night air in his ears, Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. He thought he understood why as he felt his broom shudder for a moment when they flew over the boundary wall into the grounds: Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he himself had set around the castle so that they could enter at speed. The Dark Mark was hanging above the Astronomy Tower, the highest tower of the castle, a dark ominous cloud. Malfoy would be there with Death Eaters and Bellatrix… and possibly Snape.

Dumbledore had already crossed the crenelated ramparts and was dismounting; Harry landed next to him seconds later and looked around. The ramparts were deserted. The door to the spiral staircase that led back into the castle was closed. The green skull with its serpent's tongue glinted above them but no one was to be seen. Where the hell was Malfoy?

In the dim green glow from the Mark Harry saw Dumbledore clutching at his chest with his blackened hand.

"Professor, we need to—"

"Go and wake Severus," said Dumbledore faintly but clearly. "Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else and do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here."

"But—"

"You swore to obey me, Harry—go!"

Harry looked to the door leading to the spiral staircase and back at Dumbledore. The mark was the sign. He couldn't leave Dumbledore like this but perhaps Malfoy had had to improvise and he should go and get help till the Aurors arrived. Definitely not Snape but McGonagall or someone else. This could still work if he acted fast.

"Alright," he said.

Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when he heard running footsteps on the other side. Malfoy he thought, or, someone else other than Malfoy who meant them harm. He looked round at Dumbledore, who gestured to him to retreat. Harry backed away, drawing his wand as he did so. He'd simply duel Malfoy as planned, chase him toward the Room of Hidden Things where he could escape. _Make it look real_ , he'd said. _Play the part._

The door burst open and Malfoy erupted through it shouting, "Expelliarmus!" Harry's body became instantly rigid and immobile, and he felt himself fall back against the Tower wall, propped like an unsteady statue, unable to move or speak under the Invisibility cloak. He couldn't understand how it'd happened—had Malfoy betrayed him—but Expelliarmus wasn't a Freezing Charm.

Then, by the light of the Mark, Harry saw Dumbledore's wand flying in an arc over the edge of the ramparts and understood it had been _Dumbledore_ who had wordlessly immobilized him, and in the second he had done so, Dumbledore had ruined a perfectly good plan, dooming them all.

Standing against the ramparts, very white in the face, Dumbledore still showed no sign of panic or distress. He merely looked across at his disarmer and said, "Good evening, Draco."

Malfoy stepped forward, glancing around—Harry guessed, looking for him. His eyes fell upon the second broom.

"Who else is here?" he asked.

"A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?"

Harry saw Malfoy's grey eyes shift back to Dumbledore in the greenish glare of the Mark and then around the Tower. "No," he said. "I've got back-up. There are Death Eaters here tonight."

"Well, well," said Dumbledore, as though Malfoy was showing him an ambitious homework project. "Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?"

"Right under your nose and you never even realized."

"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "Yet… forgive me… where are they now? You seem unsupported."

"They met some of your guard. They're down below fighting but I have other things to take care of."

"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," said Dumbledore softly.

"I'm just… I'm waiting for someone."

There was silence. Harry stood imprisoned within his own invisible, paralyzed body, staring at the two of them, his ears straining to hear sounds of the Death Eaters' distant fight, and in front of him, Draco Malfoy did nothing but stare at Albus Dumbledore who, incredibly was smiling back.

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."

"You don't know what I'm capable of," retorted Malfoy, "you don't know what I've done."

"Oh, yes, I do," said Dumbledore mildly. "You almost killed Katie Bell with a necklace intended for me _and_ you poisoned your friend, Theodore Nott."

Malfoy looked as shocked as Harry was. Why would Malfoy poison another Slytherin? Had it been another failed attempt at Dumbledore's life that Harry was unaware of?

"Forgive me, Draco, but it was a feeble attempt… so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart was really in it…"

"It has been in it!" said Malfoy vehemently who seemed to have been roused awake by his anger. "I've been working on it all year, and tonight —"

Somewhere in the depths of the castle below Harry heard a muffled yell. Malfoy stiffened and glanced over his shoulder.

"Somebody is putting up a good fight," said Dumbledore conversationally. "But you were saying… yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible… how did you do it?"

But Malfoy said nothing: he was still listening to whatever was happening below and seemed almost as paralyzed as Harry was. He struggled in vain against the invisible bonds holding him only thinking he had to get free— somehow, someway.

"Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone," suggested Dumbledore. "What if your backup has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realized, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight, too. And after all, you don't really need help… I have no wand at the moment… I cannot defend myself.

"I see," he continued when Malfoy neither moved nor spoke. "You are afraid to act until they join you."

"I'm not afraid!" hissed Malfoy, who actually sounded very afraid. "Wh-where's Potter? Have you seen him?"

"Harry?" asked Dumbledore with raised brows. "Harry Potter?"

"Who else would I be talking about old man!" snarled Malfoy. "Have you seen him or not?"

"No."

He heard Malfoy utter a curse under his breath and reach for something around his neck with his free hand. The gold coin. He was trying desperately to contact Harry, who could only watch with trepidation as everything unfolded from the sidelines.

"I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe… so tell me, while we wait for your friends… how did you smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it."

Malfoy looked as though he was fighting down the urge to shout or to vomit. He gulped and as though he could not help himself, he said, "I had to mend that broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one's used for years. The one Montague got lost in last year."

"Aaaah." Dumbledore's sigh was half a groan. He closed his eyes for a moment. "That was clever… there is a pair, I take it?"

"The other's in Borgin and Burkes," said Malfoy, "and they make a kind of passage between them. Montague told me that when he was stuck in the Hogwarts one, he was trapped in limbo but sometimes he could hear what was going on at school, and sometimes what was going on in the shop as if the Cabinet was traveling between them, but he couldn't make anyone hear him… in the end, he managed to Apparate out, even though he'd never passed his test. He nearly died doing it. Everyone thought it was a really good story, but I was the only one who realized what it meant—even Borgin didn't know—I was the one who realized there could be a way into Hogwarts through the Cabinets if I fixed the broken one."

"Very good," murmured Dumbledore. "So the Death Eaters were able to pass from Borgin and Burkes into the school to help you… a clever plan, a very clever plan… and, as you say, right under my nose…"

"Yeah," said Malfoy who, bizarrely, seemed to draw courage and comfort from Dumbledore's praise. "Yeah, it was until..."

"Until?"

 _Until I lost the coin_ , thought Harry. _Until you bound me under my cloak._

Harry watched as Dumbledore slid a little down the ramparts, the strength in his legs apparently fading, and he struggled fruitlessly and mutely against the enchantment binding him.

Malfoy watched with a resigned expression and did not answer.

"Tell me," said Dumbledore who seemed genuinely curious. "Were you sorry when your friend Theodore drank the poisoned mead that was meant for me?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"It wasn't meant for you," he whispered. "I gave it to him."

Dumbledore was eyeing Malfoy wearily. "Why pray tell, would you want to do such a thing? Perhaps to test it first?"

"Personal reasons," murmured Malfoy, his eyes glancing back to the door.

Dumbledore did not answer right away. Then after a few moments as though he'd misread something he said with a twinkle in his eyes "Ah yes... rivalry for the affections of Hermione Granger. A rather dangerous crush Draco."

If possible Malfoy became as pale as Dumbledore at that moment. "W-what?" he stuttered. "No—"

"Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders."

"Whatever he's told you is a lie! He hasn't been doing your orders, he promised my mother—"

"Of course, Draco, but—"

"He's a double-agent, you stupid old man, he isn't working for you, you just think he is!"

"We must agree to differ on that, Draco. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape—"

"Well, you're losing your grip, then!" sneered Malfoy. "He's been offering me plenty of help—wanting all the glory for himself—wanting a bit of the action. 'What are you doing? Were you responsible for the necklace? That was stupid, it could have ruined everything.' But I haven't told him what I've been doing in the Room of Hidden Things… none of it matters anyway. It'll all be over soon."

"Very gratifying," said Dumbledore mildly. "We all like appreciation for our own hard work, of course… but you must have had an accomplice… someone in Hogsmeade, someone who was able to slip Katie the… aaaah…" Dumbledore closed his eyes again and nodded, as though he was about to fall asleep. "… of course… Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?"

"Got there at last, have you?" Malfoy scoffed. "No wonder Snape's been able to pull the wool over your eyes. I removed the curse after—"

There was another yell from below, rather louder than the last. Malfoy looked nervously over his shoulder again, then back at Dumbledore, who went on, "So poor Rosmerta was forced to lurk in her own bathroom and pass that necklace to any Hogwarts student who entered the room unaccompanied? Tell me, how have you been communicating with Rosmerta? I thought we had all methods of communication in and out of the school monitored."

"Enchanted coins," said Malfoy, as though he was compelled to keep talking, though his wand hand was shaking badly. "I had one and she had the other and I could send her messages—"

"Isn't that the secret method of communication the group that called themselves Dumbledore's Army used last year?" asked Dumbledore. His voice was light and conversational, but Harry saw him slip an inch lower down the wall as he said it.

"Yeah, I got the idea from—" Malfoy pursed his lips till they were a thin line.

"She is quite remarkable, isn't she, Draco?"

Malfoy scowled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," smiled Dumbledore, and Harry saw his feet slide a little on the floor as he struggled to remain upright. "And as for being about to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now. We are quite alone. I am more defenceless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still, you have not acted—"

There was a bang and shouts from below, louder than ever; it sounded as though people were fighting on the actual spiral staircase that led to where Dumbledore, Malfoy and Harry stood, and Harry's heart thundered unheard in his invisible chest.

"There is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore. "So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"I haven't got any fucking options!" hissed Malfoy. "He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position," said Dumbledore. "Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realized that I suspected you."

Malfoy winced.

"I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you," continued Dumbledore. "But now, at last, we can speak plainly to each other… no harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that Katie Bell and Theodore Nott survived… I can help you, Draco."

"No, you can't," said Malfoy, his wand-hand shaking. "Nobody can. I was taking too long. I thought… he's trapped my mother in our house. I've got no choice."

"Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban… when the time comes we can protect him too… come over to the right side, Draco… you are not a killer…"

There was silence filled only with the distant noise from below. When Malfoy finally spoke his voice came out small like a child's. "I don't want to be."

"Then don't…"

Malfoy did not speak. His mouth was open ready to say something—

But suddenly footsteps were thundering up the stairs and a second later Malfoy was buffeted out of the way as four people in black robes burst through the door on to the ramparts. Still paralyzed, his eyes staring unblinkingly, Harry gazed in terror upon four strangers: it seemed the Death Eaters had won the fight below. Bellatrix was not among them, neither was Snape and he wondered where they were in the castle.

A lumpy-looking man with an odd lopsided leer gave a wheezy giggle.

"Dumbledore cornered!" he said, and he turned to a stocky little woman who looked as though she could be his sister and who was grinning eagerly. "Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!"

"Good evening, Amycus," said Dumbledore calmly, as though welcoming the man to a tea party.

"And you've brought Alecto too… charming…"

The woman gave an angry little titter. "Think your little jokes will help you on your death bed, then?" she jeered.

"Jokes? No, no, these are manners," replied Dumbledore.

"Do it," said the stranger standing nearest to Harry, a big, rangy man with matted grey hair and whiskers, whose black Death Eater's robes looked uncomfortably tight. He had a voice like none that Harry had ever heard: a rasping bark of a voice. Harry could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat and, unmistakeably, of blood coming from him. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails.

"Is that you, Fenrir?" asked Dumbledore.

"That's right," rasped the other. "Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?"

"No, I cannot say that I am…"

Fenrir Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely.

"But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore."

"Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual… you have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?"

"That's right," said Greyback. "Shocks you, that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?"

"Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little," said Dumbledore. "And, yes, I am a little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his… _friends_ live…"

"I didn't," breathed Malfoy who was not looking at Greyback; seeming not to want to even glance at him. "Aunt Bella was meant to come—"

"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore," rasped Greyback. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out… delicious, delicious…"

And he raised a yellow fingernail and picked at his front teeth, leering at Dumbledore. "I could do you for afters, Dumbledore…"

"No," said the fourth Death Eater sharply. He had a heavy, brutal-looking face. "We've got orders. Draco's got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly."

Malfoy's façade was waning. He looked terrified as he stared into Dumbledore's face, which was even paler, and rather lower than usual, as he had slid so far down the rampart wall.

"He's not long for this world anyway, if you ask me!" said the lopsided man, to the accompaniment of his sister's wheezing giggles. "Look at him—what's happened to you, then, Dumby?"

"Oh, weaker resistance, slower reflexes, Amycus," said Dumbledore. "Old age, in short… one day, perhaps, it will happen to you… if you are lucky…"

"What's that mean, then, what's that mean?" yelled the Death Eater, suddenly violent.

"Always the same, weren't yeh, Dumby, talking and doing nothing, nothing, I don't even know why the Dark Lord's bothering to kill yeh! Come on, Draco, do it!"

But at that moment, there were renewed sounds of scuffling from below and a voice shouted, "They've blocked the stairs—Reducto! REDUCTO!"

Harry's heart leapt: so these four had not killed their way here, but merely broken through the fight to the top of the Tower, and, by the sound of it, created a barrier behind them.

"Now, Draco, quickly!" said the brutal-faced man angrily.

But Malfoy stood still, his eyes darting across the room, and then to the stairs, stalling, waiting, hoping Harry or an Auror would make an appearance.

"I'll do it," snarled Greyback, moving towards Dumbledore with his hands outstretched, his teeth bared.

There was a flash of light and the werewolf was blasted out of the way; he hit the ramparts and staggered, looking furious. Harry's heart was hammering so hard it seemed impossible that nobody could hear him standing there, imprisoned by Dumbledore's spell—if he could only move, he could aim a curse from under the Cloak—

"I said I'll do it, and I'll do it!" shouted Malfoy, who'd been the one to stun the werewolf.

"Fine, do it, or stand aside so one of us—" screeched the woman, but at that precise moment the door to the ramparts burst open once more and there stood Snape, his wand clutched in his hand as his black eyes swept the scene, from Dumbledore slumped against the wall, to the four Death Eaters, including the enraged werewolf, and Malfoy.

The sight of Snape froze both Harry and Malfoy's blood. He'd come to do what he must've always known Malfoy to be incapable of—murdering Albus Dumbledore.

"We've got a problem, Snape," said the lumpy Amycus, whose eyes and wand were fixed alike upon Dumbledore, "the boy doesn't seem able—"

But somebody else had spoken Snape's name, quite softly, silencing the room.

"Severus…"

The sound frightened Harry beyond anything he had experienced all evening. For the first time, Dumbledore was pleading. Snape said nothing, but walked forwards and pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way. The three Death Eaters fell back without a word. Even the werewolf seemed cowed. The wretched traitor gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face.

"Severus… please…"

Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.

" _Avada—!"_

A jet of white light hit Snape in the back, sending him hurtling toward the side of the rampart. He stood slowly, his black eyes wide, utterly bewildered. Everyone else turned to stare at Malfoy, who looked just as shocked as the others, his hand shaking so badly Harry thought he might drop it.

"What have you done boy?" hissed Snape; but Snape did not look angry, he looked afraid.

Then a hex was cast and Malfoy keeled over in pain. Fenrir grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and held him close. "Someone's in big trouble now," he crooned in his ear. His face twisted in disgust as he tried to break free from the werewolf only for him to dig his claws deeper where he was holding him, the wand jabbing against his throat in warning.

Harry struggled in earnest knowing if he did nothing now Dumbledore would be killed and perhaps Malfoy too. He cried out but his words went unheard and no matter how much he fought he could not move. Then in the next moment, Dumbledore called out to Snape again.

" _Severus._ "

Snape turned back around to Dumbledore, a fleeting look—Harry thought he must have imagined—of anguish.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

A jet of green light shot from the end of Snape's wand and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest. Harry's silent scream of horror never left him but Malfoy's did. They were both forced to watch as Dumbledore was blasted into the air: for a split-second seeming to hang suspended beneath the shining skull, and then falling slowly backwards, like a great rag doll, over the battlements and out of sight.

* * *

A/N: Hi all. Hope everyone is having a brilliant day. Just wanted to say a couple of things real quick. 1. It was such a difficult choice to see how it would play out from this point on and I knew, either way, I was going to break readers hearts so... Sorry guys! 2. I tried to keep it as canon as possible and reworked some of the original text from HBP. 3. Thanks again to everyone for your reviews and loving support. I hope this chapter wasn't too sad to read because there is plenty of grief to come.


	50. The Mudblood Lover

A/N: The end of this chapter contains a sensitive topic and maybe triggering, so please read with caution or skip after the flashback. (Although I suggest not to because it is somewhat relevant to the overall story).

* * *

 _Four years later..._

* * *

It had been difficult to leave the seclusion of the hotel room in Muggle London. She had always chosen to meet Ron outside the Wizarding world for two very important reasons. One, because it was safer to meet in a world where no one knew who they were and two, because when they did it felt like none of what they did was real. Pansy wasn't living her life, she was living a Muggle's; a young girl who hailed one of those London black cabs, who worked in a swish clothing store, whose only goal was to save up and travel the world; not a Pureblood heiress who had lived through a war, who was cheating on her husband with a man she once considered an enemy and a blood traitor.

After Ronald left, Pansy opened the curtains wide and peered out through the Lanesborough Hotel window. Morning light fell through and though she was still sleepy she couldn't stand the idea of crawling back into that bed alone. She hated herself on most days but this morning was particularly hard on her. He had actually ordered her to marry him. How dare he demand her to leave Blaise, to tell her he loved her and to assume she loved him back. The arrogance and gall of him! It stirred something violent in her. Pansy had never met someone who aggravated her the way he did; his lack of manners, the way he practically inhaled his food without chewing, the way she sometimes caught him adjusting his trousers under his robes like some uncivilized brute and that loud unrestrained laughter when he found a silly thing funny.

Stepping into the bathroom to have a shower her mind continued to imagine how awful things would be. She'd have to live in a small house, with barely any clothes or jewels, and have family dinners with the other redheaded barbarians—and oh Merlin—she'd seen them wearing those jumpers his mother knitted. She'd have her very bloody own one too, she grimaced as she washed shampoo out of her hair. _Except_ , she realised with dread, _his mother will probably hate me_. Frowning she decided that Mrs. Weasley would just have to tolerate her because Pansy had decided upon waking and seeing that shock of red hair that she would indeed marry the silly oaf and move into a small house and have next to nothing and probably earn the ire of her parents and all her Pureblooded friends. It would be torturous but she'd bear it all like a true martyr. Grabbing a towel, she stepped out of the shower and began to pat her skin down methodically. First starting with her ankles, up her legs, then her arms, her chest, her hair last… Ronald thought it was strange but always watched the routine with a stillness unlike him.

Once she was dressed, she disapparated home, to her big beautiful mansion. Her big, beautiful, _empty_ mansion which echoed every spoken word till the rooms sounded haunted. As she walked down the long wide hall toward the master bedroom she caught a glimpse of shadow reflected by the firelight in the living room. Her heart stopped. Had Blaise come home early to find her gone—?

"You're not my husband," murmured Pansy in relief as she stepped inside and saw the figure of her friend sprawled across the sofa staring up at the ceiling.

"Fortunately not," scoffed Theo not bothering to sit up nor look at her. "Where have you been?"

Pansy sighed with exhaustion. "I stayed at Tracey's, we—" Theo raised a closed fist in the air, his thumb stuck out. "What are you doing?" she clipped, a delicate eyebrow raised.

"Counting the lies you tell me."

She shrugged off her muggle coat and threw it onto the back of the armchair. "Go home, Theodore. It's late and I'm tired," she sighed crossing her arms.

Theo tutted. "You've been a very naughty girl Pansy…"

Pansy remained silent, staring into the fire trying to figure out just how much Theo knew and how. But it didn't really matter, did it? Because soon everyone would know.

"Blaise would be devastated," he said, finally deciding to look at her. "If he ever found out…"

Gritting her teeth, she warned. "Stay out of our marriage."

"End it," he said. "Or I'll—"

"Or you'll do what?" she cut in softly. "Tell him?"

Collecting herself, she walked across the room and began pouring a glass of wine. He watched with unease as she moved toward him.

"Why don't you have a drink?" she sneered, offering it out to him. "It's all your good for these days."

Theo swung his legs down and stood. "Fuck you," he snarled, smacking the glass from her hand. It broke into tiny shards and stained their Persian rug red.

"Now look what you've done," she clucked softly ignoring his violent outburst. "Well, if it's not a drink you're after, then it's breakfast you'll get."

Pansy called her house-elf Minnie. Theo needed to eat. Badly. The elf apparated next to her. "Breakfast Minnie dear," she said giving Theo the once over. "And make it a big one," she added smiling sweetly.

Theo rolled his eyes and walked out passed her in the direction of the smaller of the two dining rooms, where Pansy and Blaise usually took their meals.

"If you don't mind," said Pansy lighting the fire with her wand. "I plan on telling Blaise myself."

"You _what_?" he hissed yanking a chair out for her.

"As I said," she intoned, sitting. "It's really none of your business."

His jaw clenched. "You and Blaise are my friends, how can I just ignore what you're doing. And with that bl—"

Theo clamped his mouth shut when suddenly Minnie arrived with their freshly made pumpkin juice. He took it and downed the drink as if it were firewhiskey and gave Pansy a challenging glare while waiting for the house-elf to leave.

"—with that blood traitor," he finished.

She let out a delicate laugh that grew raucous till she'd fallen back against her chair clutching her stomach from stitches.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" he snapped.

"You're quite the comedian," she murmured, a grin still on her face as she swirled the liquid gently in her hand.

"Forgive me if I don't find infidelity a hilarity the way you do."

Her lips curled into a feline grin. "Actually I find your hypocrisy amusing," she hummed.

"Whatever you think you know, you don't," he said quietly. But she was fairly certain she knew a lot more than he was aware.

"Oh," she mused, smiling like the cat who'd caught the mouse. "Care to tell me why Hermione Granger stepped down as editor at Obscurus Books?"

Theo gave a noncommittal shrug. "That had nothing to do with me or the publishing house. She left for personal reasons… her parents... it's a long story..."

Pansy ran a finger around the rim of her goblet, her smile slipping as she thought of a young boy she'd once adored. "You know," she began, her eyes pinned on his, watching intently. "I spent the better part of my youth watching Draco drool over that girl and we both know what happens to Slytherins who—"

She could only hear the crackle and spit of the fire behind them as Theo held her gaze, begging her not to finish that sentence. She called Minnie to refill their goblets. They were silent and Pansy regretted that it could not be alcohol the elf was pouring instead. At least that would help drown the ever amounting guilt. Not guilt for Ronald—although there was that too—no… for inviting Hermione to her engagement party. For indirectly putting Theo and her into a room together and telling him, _now be nice to her, talk to her, she's come alone without those other two and for Merlin's sake whatever you do, don't bring up the book or Draco. It'll only upset her more._ Pansy knew now more than anyone the chain reaction you could set off with just one chance encounter.

"I haven't got the foggiest idea of what you're talking about," he said taking another swig of pumpkin juice. "I barely saw her while she worked there… barely see her now."

Once Pansy wasn't able to see Ronald for a whole twenty-two days. She almost went mad— although the reunion was well worth it.

"Does it matter?" she asked with a tilt of her head. "Her physical presence?"

Theo closed his eyes as if the question exhausted him. "I've known you for what Pans—since we were four or five? I've never asked you for anything, isn't that right—all these years—not one thing, not really."

"Yes," she conceded, a little taken aback with the abrupt change in topic.

"Do me a favor," he clipped and he meant every word. "Do not mention Hermione Granger to me ever again."

Pansy blinked. "Alright," she said with some reluctance. "I promise."

Swallowing some more pumpkin juice her mind pulled back to Draco's funeral. The one and only time she had ever seen Blaise and Theo cry. Except no one was looking at them. They had all been too distracted by Hermione Granger, who had not cried nor said a word of remembrance. There was something so frightening about her gaunt expression and the way she stared at the empty hole in the ground as if she were the one to be buried there instead. Narcissa had lined the grave with flowers. She had done so with Lucius' grave too. Pansy almost startled at the pop of apparition as Minnie and Remy, the other house-elf, appeared and began setting breakfast on the table. It was a beautiful spread that the Muggles in the hotels she frequented called 'the American breakfast' and it had her stomach growling.

Theo began serving himself as if he had not eaten for days and she worried that he actually hadn't. She worried for him immensely, had even aired her concern with Blaise but he'd merely shrugged as if it couldn't be helped. She was sure that something was taking place in her friend's life, something he wouldn't allow anyone else near and she knew, whatever it was, it had something to do with Hermione Granger.

As Pansy began to serve herself she thought of when it might have all started. Possibly two months or so after the funeral, at Diagon Alley.

* * *

 _"_ _Look," sneered Daphne from across the table. "It's Britain's most famous Mudblood."_

 _Tracey who was sitting next to her grabbed the girl's arm roughly. "Don't call her that!" she hissed. "Calling someone a Mudblood right now is dangerous. Anyone overhears and the next thing you know they'll brand us Pureblood sympathizers!"_

 _For Merlin's sake, thought Pansy, her eyes darting around the cafe. Daphne really could be so loud sometimes._

 _Tracey was shifting uncomfortably in her chair, regretting her outburst as Daphne subtly rubbed her arm. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get so angry but you should be careful how you speak."_

 _Daphne gave an exaggerated pout._

 _"_ _I haven't seen her since the funeral," murmured Blaise staring out through the cafe window and across the street. Then he turned his gaze to Theo. "Have you?"_

 _Theo blinked. "Have I?" he echoed. "No, not since the funeral."_

 _"_ _I was surprised to see Potter and Weasley there," commented Daphne innocently. "Thought they hated Draco. Even that odd Ravenclaw girl showed."_

 _Pansy caught the split-second glance Blaise gave Theo before shrugging. "Probably came for Granger. Emotional support and all…"_

 _"_ _What is she doing?" scoffed Pansy who was watching as Hermione walked into Flourish & Blotts, her arms already balancing a pile of books. "Does she really need more books?"_

 _Tracey's head was down, almost staring into her lap. "I heard she's going round to all the bookstores trying to buy every copy."_

 _Pansy, Theo and Blaise's heads swiveled to the blonde girl whose hair was falling over her face as if she didn't want to be seen._

 _"_ _Copies of what?" asked Theo._

 _Tracey began fidgeting with her serviette. "I thought you would've already heard," she answered without looking up. "Rita Skeeter, she's written a book of sorts…"_

 _Pansy placed her tea down gracefully. "What book?"_

 _She caught Daphne's head turn away, her lips pursed together, which meant that she'd known about this book too._

 _"_ _It's called the Mudblood Lover. It's about Draco and… and her," said Tracey softly, her head nodding toward the bookstore Hermione had just entered. "It came out last week and I heard it's a bestseller."_

 _Blaise for once, opened his mouth, looking utterly inelegant like a gaping fish. "That's, it's—" he spluttered._

 _"_ _It's slander," said Theo whose expression had barely changed._

 _Daphne finally deigned it fitting to speak. "Skeeter changed names and other little things, enough to claim that it's fictional but anyone who has half a brain can put two and two together."_

 _"_ _So the little Gryffindor's decided to buy all the copies so no one else can read it," said Theo as though he'd finished a thought out loud. His eyebrows furrowed as if something didn't quite fit. "She has that kind of money?"_

 _"_ _No," clipped Blaise. "Not even Potter has enough galleons to throw around. Besides, they'd just print more. Demand and supply my friends. I imagine Granger's breaking the bank with her little project."_

 _"_ _I suppose—where are you going?" asked Daphne._

 _"_ _I'm going to invite her to our engagement party," replied Pansy who had suddenly risen from her seat._

 _"_ _What— really?" stammered Blaise who understood the implication of her use of the pronoun 'our' included him._

 _Pansy put her hands on her hips and glared at her fiancé. "It's what Draco would've wanted," she said with a stern tone as if addressing a child. "Don't you think?"_

 _He was nodding away like an imbecile. "Er yeah, of course," he agreed._

 _She puffed through her nose, clicking her heels irritably against the floor and he was staring at her as if she were a Chinese fireball. "Well, aren't you going to come with me?"_

 _Blaise stood so quickly he seemed to sway. "Coming," he smiled._

 _She chanced a glance at the girls who were looking at her as if she'd gone mad. Pansy rolled her eyes and gave them a little humph before beginning to cross the street over to the bookstore. The door to Flourish and Blotts tinkled as she and Blaise walked through. Hermione was at the counter and had just finished paying for more copies of the Mudblood Lover. She seemed startled when she turned to find them there at the door. Then suddenly behind them, the door tinkled again and following Hermione's eye line Pansy looked behind and saw Theo enter. She clenched her jaw wondering why on earth he thought it would be a good idea for him to tag along. The Gryffindor was looking at them apprehensively as if three snakes had managed to corner her. To make things worse Blaise gave her an uneasy smile, his eyes darting between the two women, waiting for Pansy to give him a cue._

 _Merlin help her._

 _"_ _Hermione," said Pansy opting to call her by her first name. "It's nice to see you. I haven't seen you since..." she faltered not wanting to bring up the funeral. "It's been too long."_

 _Her eyes slid over the three of them suspiciously. "What do you want?" she asked in a small voice._

 _Theo nodded toward the books which she had put into several paper bags and were cutting, Pansy imagined, deeply into the skin of her palms. "Light reading Granger?" he drawled._

 _Pansy bit her tongue to keep from yelling at Theo to keep things civil. "Listen, Hermione," she began, disregarding Theo. "Blaise and I—" she subtly elbowed her fiancé in the ribs, "—would like to cordially invite you to our engagement party."_

 _Her beau cleared his throat and snapped his fingers producing a formal invitation for her with a flourish. Hermione took it with some unease._

 _"_ _It's formal attire," he winked. "Dress to impress, I say."_

 _Pansy fought the impulse to pinch the bridge of her nose and smiled instead. "Or wear whatever you like," she amended. "Just come, it'll be—" She began searching for the right word. "Fun."_

 _Hermione's lips tugged into a frown. "Really?" she asked suspiciously as though they were back in Hogwarts and Pansy was about to snatch the invitation from her hand as some cruel joke. Pansy was so distracted by the absurdity of the situation she almost missed Hermione ask if she could bring someone._

 _"_ _I'm already going," smirked Theo. "No need to bring me, love."_

 _Blaise almost laughed but quickly covered it up with a cough, while Hermione, to Pansy's satisfaction, ignored him diligently._

 _"_ _Thank you," she said holding Pansy's gaze. "And congratulations."_

 _The couple smiled awkwardly back. "Well… see you there," said Blaise as a way of ending this torment._

 _There was a clumsy fumble for the door as they all made to leave at the same time. Theo being the closest held it open as Pansy and Blaise stepped aside for Hermione to pass through first. She didn't miss the nervous glance Hermione threw at him while crossing the threshold. She wondered what that exchange had been about and turned to look back just as Hermione did. Pansy smiled and gave a small wave goodbye. Her heart broke a little as the girl she'd envied, and snubbed throughout school, tried to raise her hand to wave goodbye back, unable to, due to the weight of the books; of her own tragic love story. As the three took their seats back at the cafe, Theo smirked, "Well, that went swimmingly."_

 _"_ _Really?" asked Daphne, unable to hide her curiosity._

 _Pansy smiled but she knew it didn't reach her eyes. She looked at Blaise who seemed to be relieved now that it was over but content all the same. Theo's eyes, however, had drifted back across the street to the bookstore._

 _Looking around at her friends she said, "She's bringing a plus one—" Daphne's eyebrows rose. "I'll just have to consult the seating chart and find her a place, that's all—" Blaise had returned to sipping his coffee. "Not as if I've spent an entire month perfecting it!" Pansy smiled again tightly._

 _Blaise gently laid his hand on her shoulder. "You did a good thing, Pans."_

 _Her shoulders sagged and she looked at him in that sickening way the others couldn't stand. "She's just so… it's like she's barely there and—"_

 _"_ _I have some business to attend to," said Theo, rising from his seat suddenly. He gave Daphne a quick kiss on her temple but Pansy could tell it had been for show. Another month and Theo would have lost interest. If Pansy were being honest, so would have Daphne. Her darling friend was an absolute butterfly. She only liked to flitter from one man to another, like the rotation of a pretty wardrobe she'd wear one bloke one day and another in a few months. Today it's Theo, perhaps tomorrow it'd be Mark. And Merlin help Mark whoever he may be._

 _Blaise's eyebrows furrowed. "Business?" he frowned, almost as an afterthought. "We went over your estate's finances yesterday—"_ _But the door to the cafe had already closed behind Theo._

 _Pansy looked across the street. She understood what business Theo had to deal with and it suited her just fine for him to sort things out. Rita Skeeter could burn for all she cared._

 _"_ _I didn't mean anything by it, I'm sorry," said Daphne so abruptly that she stuttered. "Calling her a Mudblood— I only meant—well I just meant—the book—"_

 _Clearing her throat Pansy interrupted. "Let's talk flowers!" Because anything to do with Draco made her want to get into bed, curl up and never leave it._

* * *

A sound broke her from the memory. The clink of something.

"Is Missus needing anything else?" asked Minnie who'd brought the salt and pepper shakers to the table.

She gave the house-elf a swift shake of the head and dismissed her.

Theo was cutting into his egg, the yolk spilling over his bread. Pansy looked down at her own plate and between dredging up old memories and her current predicament she felt like puking into it. She stared at the fried eggs, the yolks round and yellow. Unbroken.

"I was pregnant," she blurted.

Theo's cutlery slipped on his plate making the most awful scraping sound.

"You ought to be a little more careful," she cringed. "All our tableware is porcelain, not to mention priceless."

He merely put his fork and knife down neatly on his plate and waited for her to continue.

She began playing with the stem of her goblet. "It was during the last year of Hogwarts… he made me take a potion to get rid of it."

Theo sat back in his chair, almost a lethargic dismissive countenance. "Why?"

"He didn't think we were ready—and I suppose we weren't and things were muddled with the war and—"

"But you wanted to keep it," cut in Theo.

Pansy's hand shook as she reached for her goblet again. "Yes," she said before taking a delicate sip. "More than I've wanted anything."

Theo's eyes fell to his plate. "He should not have asked you to do that."

She swallowed. "And I should not have taken the vial from him when he gave it to me…" she admitted. "But I did."

"Is this why you've been having an affair with Weasley? Running off to Muggle London instead of here working on your marriage?"

It was jarring to hear the words of her infidelity read out loud to her.

"I'm not a brave person, Theo. Not when it really matters. It's become clear that neither is Blaise."

"You blame Blaise," he supplied… as if he knew. But he knew nothing.

"No, I don't," she whispered, her eyes stinging. "I love my husband very much. I just think that at least one, out of the two, needs to be brave for love to last… and Ronald is so very brave."

Theo's lips tugged into a deep-set frown. He looked so much like Draco when he did so. Such ugly expressions on pretty faces.

"Pansy," he rasped. "You cannot leave Blaise. He has loved you his whole life."

"I think I have to," she said softly. "I'm with child again and it's not his this time."

Theo gulped, his eyes darting helplessly around the table before jumping up, his chair scratching against the marble. Every movement of his these days were rough; grated. Had Hermione Granger done that to him?

"I don't want to know," he whispered running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to know any of this."

Tears were falling into Pansy's food.

She wished she did not love that stupid redhead as much as she did. Things would be far simpler if she'd never walked into that bar. If she'd not been consumed by alcohol and jealousy after finding out about Blaise's little tryst with Ginny. She wished she had never drunk that potion and killed the thing growing inside her. She wished that this news would not break Blaise's heart; the way he had once silently broken hers. But she wished, most of all, to have her best friend back. Draco would've never allowed her to do what she did. He would've fought for her to keep the baby… he would've protected her during that last dreadful year at Hogwarts when Death Eaters ran the school. She'd give anything to see that cocky grin or to hear some snarky remark. Who would now be her child's Godfather?

Pansy smiled to herself through tears wondering if Draco would've found it as amusing as she did that his Godson—for Pansy was sure she was having a boy—would be a Weasley. _Dear Merlin_ , she thought. She was going to accept that prat's proposal and make him deliriously happy. Far too happy and smug for her liking. Pansy decided with a wicked gleam in her eye that she'd wait till after the wedding to announce that she was pregnant with his child.

 _He wants to marry me and be with me forever? Well, fine, she huffed. He can have me. Me and much, much more._

Serves him right, the handsome bastard.


	51. Dulcis Somnia

" _Enough_ ," he whinged. "It's bedtime."

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh as she glanced up from her book for the nineteenth-time. Sometimes Draco could be so controlling it was infuriating. Shifting slightly on the couch she retorted, "I would've finished by now if you didn't keep whining and interrupting my reading rhythm!"

She ignored the childish pout he made.

"But it's late and I want cuddles."

She raised an eyebrow, knowing well enough that's not what he was after. "Cuddles?" she scoffed. The word sounded misplaced on his tongue. "You only really cuddle when you're unconscious."

Folding his arms behind his head he remarked almost to himself, "but I can't sleep without you."

"Right," she murmured under her breath, her eyes falling back to the page. "Sleep."

She started again only to realize halfway through the paragraph that she'd already read this page. Letting out a huff of irritation her fingers tightened on the book determined to finish this chapter. Midsentence she thought she heard someone calling her name. It was faint. She cocked her ear toward the door and waited but there was nothing. Hermione shook the sensation off. There wasn't anyone calling her name, it was the middle of the night and no one knew where they—

"HEY! Give that back!"

Draco held the book he'd just snatched from her hand and closed it with a pointed thump. "I said," he intoned. "It's time for bed."

Hermione folded her arms and glared up at him. His lips were in a thin line and she felt sometimes that he didn't understand normal human behavior. "You can't just make people do what you want them to, Draco. That's not how things work."

His eyebrows furrowed, looking a little taken aback. "I know," he said a little softer than she'd expected.

But for some reason, she couldn't shrug off his spoilt behavior as she usually did. Maybe it was because she blamed him for the guilt she'd felt when she'd lied to Ron earlier that day when he'd gone to look for her in the library and hadn't been able to find her. Caught out she'd made a feeble attempt to make it seem like he hadn't looked hard enough because of course, she'd been there. Probably just missed her is all. She was always there. Except when of course she was with Draco.

"I'm not having sex with you tonight if that's what you're after," she huffed feeling her cheeks heat over the word sex. Had she ever spoken that word before? Of course, they'd _had_ sex but saying it out loud felt foreign.

Without a word, he vanished the book and went to sit on the bed. "You can be a real _witch_ sometimes, y'know?"

"Where's my book—wait—what did you just call me?"

He shrugged, feigning innocence. "I called you a witch. It's what you are, isn't it?"

"It's how you said it, with that tone!"

Another shrug. But there was something dangerous swimming beneath the calm veneer, something worse than anger. She knew him well enough now to tell the difference and before she could begin to fathom what it was he gave her the answer.

"You spend more time with Weasley than you do with me."

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She knew Ron's recent attentions wouldn't go unnoticed but how was it her fault? "As I said, you can't tell people what to do. Ron's my friend—one of my best friends," she quickly corrected. "I can't exactly tell him to leave me alone. Besides, it's a nice change of pace from having us glare at each other—"

"So you still love him?"

The question was so sharp, so invasive she flinched.

A moment's hesitation and his voice grew louder. "You love him!" he yelled; no longer a question but a statement thrown to her.

Hermione caught it. "Of course I love him. I just finished saying how he's one of my best—"

"You want to be with him, not me." Draco's eyes were almost black and she thought it was a trick of the light because she blinked and they were gray again. His body was coiled tightly.

Hermione tutted at the ridiculousness of it all. "Don't be silly," she started but then he was rising off the bed and she felt herself become small as he stood up tall and stepped into her.

"You belong to me," he said softly, slowly, almost the same way you explain something to a child. "You belonged to me the moment we took each other's virginity. Even before that…"

Her cheeks blossomed, anger and embarrassment warring with each other. Another word they'd never uttered in each other's presence had been spoken. Virgin. Virginity. This whole conversation was making her squirm. "I don't—you can't—" she cleared her throat, her hands curling into tight fists. "We're dating. I don't _belong_ to anyone."

Instead of arguing or becoming angry, he merely tilted his head to the side. "I wasn't going to bring it up but…" His eyes were dancing over her face. They landed on her lips. "You do."

She pursed them in silent rage, her brain working furiously. _Condescending_ , _pure-blooded, chauvinistic_ —

His hand reached up to brush her lower lip and despite all the witty remarks, the insults and counter-arguments she had running through her mind all she managed was a choked, "I don't." But she heard how hollow the words sounded and he must have as well.

A tired smile pulled at the corner of his lips and she realized he'd managed to pin her against the bedpost. She shoved him off lightly but he grabbed her and pulled her back against his chest so roughly she gasped. "Stop playing hard to get," he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. "I already have you."

"Stop saying that," she groaned as his arms encircled her waist. "I'm my own person, I am an independent witch, who… who…" The anger, the indignation, all of it was fading, dread curling in her gut as she felt the truth of it. She wasn't independent, she was completely dependent and she'd known for a while but denied it. That physical need to see him, speak to him, hold him, protect him, love him. It had taken her over and it was stronger than a spell.

He turned her around to face him, lifting her chin up to his face. "It's okay though because I belong to you too…"

"You do?" she tried asking, but it came out a rasp. Clearing her throat, she repeated the question and was surprised at how small and afraid her voice still sounded.

"I do… I feel it… I've felt it before. I've been screaming it, trying to tell you." She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed along his pale throat. "Couldn't you hear me?"

She reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck looking deeply into his eyes which had calmed into silver pools again. "I could hear you," she smiled with awe. "You tried telling me at the Three Broomsticks."

Draco's eyes widened, his cheeks turned a shade of pale pink and she could see the vulnerability there. "I thought you knew. I thought…" His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "When did you realize?"

And Hermione could hear the fervor in his voice.

Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. "Pansy told me at Slughorn's party," she confessed. She waited with held breath for his reaction but he seemed entirely unsurprised so she continued, "I didn't believe it till New Years when we were lying next to each other… I could hear you then too."

A rare smile crossed his face. "For a Slytherin, I haven't been that subtle around you have I?"

She grinned, a warmth bubbling inside of her. "I think maybe you wanted me to know."

"I did," he said placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I mean I do. I want you to know."

She didn't know what to say in the face of all this. "So bedtime?"

Draco hummed a smile. "I wish every time could be bedtime."

Hermione's teeth caught her bottom lip as she was gently tugged toward the bed, an article of clothing being discarded, one after the other.

And then she was pulling away. No. Not her. The image. The room. Something was pulling her away from him, from their bed, their room, from that night.

Away. Far, far away...

Hermione jolted awake violently, blinking. The light was too bright.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

She stared wide-eyed around the room until every blurry line sharpened into focus. Until the bright light was dim candlelight and it was night. A circle of faces loomed over, surrounding her, their worried expressions doing nothing to calm her racing heart. "I… I was dreaming—what—where am I?"

"You're in the hospital wing," replied Lupin, looking grave. Hermione blinked, sweeping her gaze around at the others. Lupin, Tonks, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Madam Pomfrey, and Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley.

She curled her fingers and toes, touched her chest, her face. She felt fine so why was she here and why was…? As she pushed herself up to a sitting position, Mrs. Weasley scolded, "Oh for heaven's sake. Give her some air, all of you."

Like abashed school children, they scuttled away giving her a glimpse into the rest of the room. There wasn't a curtain around her bed. Neither was there a curtain around Luna or Neville's.

"Neville's alright," said Lupin. "He's just resting. Madam Pomfrey gave him a sleeping draught."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what happened when it all came back to her. Not the memory she'd been reliving, but the present.

"Hermione," said Ron touching her shoulder. "Are you hurt? What happened?" She realized it had been him speaking when she'd first woken.

"I was with Luna," she said looking toward her friend who was still fast asleep. "We were outside Snape's office near the dungeons and Professor Flitwick came running down the hall shouting that there were Death Eater's in the castle. As soon as I heard that I began to leave but something—someone stunned me— _us_ ," she corrected as she realized Luna must have been hit with the spell as well.

Madam Pomfrey was looking at her curiously. "We tried to wake you but you wouldn't—"

"Could have been another Death Eater," Molly said in a whisper to her husband. Ginny was saying something underneath her breath to Pomfrey.

"Not even a reviving spell worked," said Lupin quietly, the same curiosity etched on his face as he stared at her.

"I was dreaming," said Hermione again unable to explain how close it felt to reality. She had heard someone calling and hadn't wanted to leave it—hadn't wanted to leave Draco. "I… How long have I been asleep?"

"Several hours," answered Madam Pomfrey. "We were getting worried. I've never come across a spell like this before. Hopefully, in time, Miss Lovegood will wake as you did."

Hermione studied the pale girl's serene face and wondered which beautiful memory she was reliving. The truth was that she hadn't _wanted_ to wake up. Then a cold shiver ran down her spine. It felt like someone had drenched her with a bucket of ice water. _Hours_. She'd been asleep for hours. Her eyes found Harry's.

"What happened?" she asked and then before she could care that there were several other people in the room she demanded, "Where's Draco?"

Hermione felt the people around her shift. She thought she heard someone say, "Mr. Malfoy is no longer in the castle," but she could not tear her gaze away from Harry. He had been quiet all this while and one look into those green soulful eyes told her everything.

Then he said, "Dumbledore is dead," and Hermione felt the world turn on its axis.

She flung herself over the side of the bed and threw up onto the floor. There was a ringing in her ears and people's hands were upon her, helping. The sick was vanished immediately and she was given water, but Hermione was pushing them away, standing up. Harry was suddenly next to her and so was Ron, his hand on her elbow steading her.

"Don't, you're still drowsy from the spell," he warned. Except it wasn't the spell. She had felt fine the moment she woke. It was her, her body. It was _reacting_. Her body began shaking, her vision clouding over.

"Where is he?" she asked again weakly; terrified of the answer.

"Can you stop thinking about your Death Eater boyfriend for just one second!" snapped Ron. She shoved away from his hold.

" _Boyfriend_?" sputtered Tonks.

"I told you he was just using you!"

Ginny's lips were pursed, Madam Pomfrey's hand was clutching at her throat and Mrs. Weasley was muttering, poor dear, over and over again.

Hermione met everyone's eyes and looked carefully at these women who, she assumed, silently judged her. "I don't have time for this," she muttered. Turning to Harry, she again demanded to know where Draco was.

"He left with Snape. Snape cast the killing curse. It was him… it was him all along."

Ginny frowned. "He didn't exactly leave," she whispered. And it was spoken so softly it was as if she almost hadn't meant to be heard. Everyone's eyes had turned to her and she blinked in surprise. "I just mean… well, Snape was carrying him out. He was unconscious."

"Probably got hit by a spell," said Mr. Weasley with a tone of regret. "If only Lucius had—"

"You're lying," spat Hermione and Arthur seemed to flinch as if the comment had been directed at him but it was Harry she was still speaking to.

She shook her head, shook away what she knew to be false truths. "He wouldn't go with them… you're lying."

She watched him swallow and shift uneasily on his feet. "I told you all Snape was a traitor and Malfoy was a Death Eater. No one listened to me... He was there at the Astronomy Tower. He separated Dumbledore from his wand—"

"You're lying!" and it came out a hiss rivaling any other Slytherin's. "You're a liar Harry Potter!" With that pronouncement and a chorus of gasps at those who had never thought to see such a scene between the two friends, she stormed through the doors of the hospital wing. Footsteps followed her out.

"Where are you going?" shouted Harry, pacing after her.

"I'm going to find him! He needs me!"

"You can't," he said with an edge of panic in his voice. But Hermione was barely listening.

Harry yanked her arm. "You're right," he said quickly before she could put up a fight. "I lied. But we can't talk about it here."

Immediately she dragged Harry to the closest empty room and cast a silencing charm. "Tell me everything," she demanded.

Hermione listened with growing trepidation as Harry revealed what had happened and then some more when she asked specific questions. "I had to lie," he said finally, "I'm sorry, but I had to, Voldemort can never know Malfoy planned this, and if I tell the Order the truth they might think I was working with Malfoy or—I don't know—what if it gets back to Voldemort! Malfoy said to play the part, so—"

"I don't understand," interrupted Hermione who wasn't really listening to Harry anymore. "Why didn't Dumbledore just release you from the spell?"

She saw something in him break every time Dumbledore's name was spoken. "To protect me," said Harry softly. "I don't know—why else?"

She shook her head. "But from what you told me, you could have easily disarmed Draco, from underneath the cloak without even revealing yourself like you two had planned. Why would Dumbledore…?" Tears pricked her eyes, falling one by one, unable to finish the sentence. "He's dead," she wailed into her hand. "My God he's really dead!"

Harry's lips were trembling. "It was my fault," he whispered. "Maybe if I hadn't lost the coin or if Dumbledore had just..."

Another sob escaped her as Harry cradled his head in his hands.

"What have we done?" he anguished. "What have _I_ done?"

"Harry, what happens if Voldemort looks into Draco's mind?"

 _God please, don't let him see me._

Hermione fell on Harry, wrapping her arms tightly around him feeling more alone now than ever. "Why would he do this, why couldn't he just trust me?" she cried because there was a part of her that felt a personal betrayal that he had trusted Harry and not her with his secrets.

She received no reply.

After a minute they let go. Harry reached up and wiped her cheek a little awkwardly. "Malfoy's smart, he'll figure something out," he said quietly. "If we try to help him Voldemort might suspect his betrayal, he could find out Draco destroyed a Horcrux. Anything we do to help him will only make things worse… for him and his mother. We can't risk that."

Despite her entire body screaming at her to do something. To bring him back here safely, she knew Harry was right. Draco was a brilliant Occlumens. She had always sensed how he sometimes disappeared and the sting of loneliness she'd suffer when he withdrew, but it wasn't until he'd confided the truth that things finally fell into place and then she'd felt like she'd known all along. She only worried because he'd said that lately, it was getting harder to put her back in her room, harder to turn the key.

She was the love of his life and a liability.

"Did anything good come out of this at all?" sniffed Hermione, speaking rhetorically. About her and Draco more than anything else.

Harry shrugged. "Finally proved Snape was lying. One Death Eater is dead and apparently the Aurors caught two others."

"And Bellatrix never came?" she asked softly even though she already knew the answer.

He shook his head. "No, she was supposed to but Greyback came instead."

She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to get in contact with him. Draco would be in grave danger if she risked using the bracelet to message him, more danger than he was already in. An owl was out of the question—

"Hermione," said Harry pulling her out of her thoughts. "You're not angry with me."

She gazed up at him. There were dark purple circles under Harry's eyes which made him look as if he hadn't slept in days. A surge of pity propelled her to him, taking his hand in hers.

"Oh Harry," she sighed softly. "Don't you see? Haven't you realized by now? Draco tricked you. He _seduced_ you. I just never thought you'd ever be as arrogant as him to think you could pull something like this off by yourselves. For two people who've never liked each other, you've never been more similar in my eyes."

With that, Hermione left Harry and closed the door behind her.

There was nothing she could do for Draco but she could be there for Luna when she woke up. Maybe she had seen the person who stunned them or knew the spell they had used. Whoever it was, they'd pay dearly for what they'd done. Her fingers traced the fine gold chain on her wrist. If she'd been able to get to the Astronomy Tower or to help the other Aurors, Draco might still be here with her, safe and sound in her arms.

The hospital wing was filled with quiet chatter that died as soon as she entered. It reminded her of the days after she'd been cursed by Harry. The noise and then the hush which seemed to follow her whenever she entered a room. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had left. Lupin too. She let the door close with a thump and walked over to sit by Luna's bed without glancing in Ron's direction although she could feel his eyes watching her.

They'll soon understand. Voldemort, Snape, Greyback, all those Death Eaters. They had no right. He belonged to her and they couldn't just snatch him away in the dead of night.

Her nails left crescent-shaped marks on the soft skin of her palm. Dumbledore was dead… but Draco would live.

And if he didn't… she'd kill them.

She'd kill every single last one.

* * *

A/N: The chapter is named after the spell which was used on Hermione and Luna. Loosely translates as Sweet Dreams. Sorry for taking so long to update. Life is getting in the way xo


	52. Lions & Snakes

_Four years later..._

* * *

Severus Snape mostly kept to himself after the war. He hadn't attended the Victory Gala held by the Ministry, or the Reparation Ball organized later by a handful of the wealthy elite, nor had he attended the fundraiser for Gringotts to restore the parts which had been destroyed during what everyone referred to now as the Hungarian Dragon Heist. However, when he'd received an invitation to the wedding of his former students, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, he had RSVP'd that he would, in fact, be in attendance for the ceremony, as well as the reception. Narcissa had received an invitation too and he'd decided that it would be best for her mental faculties to start going about her life as she usually should.

In the immediate aftermath of the war and Voldemort's defeat, she'd been taken to St. Mungo's. The Healers there had said the head trauma had been minimal. _A few memory exercises, a lot of potions and she'll be good as new in a few months' time._ How ignorant Healers were when it came to consoling others—utterly clinical and insensitive. Both her son and husband were dead and he'd almost hexed the old bat for implying that she'd be as good as new. For once though, he had bitten his tongue and allowed them their work, for he was one of the best specialists in Britain who was still alive, and Severus wanted only the best for her. And despite his reservations, Healer Bell had been right. The hallucinations had become less frequent until they'd stopped completely and her motor function and speech corrected itself as well. She was more or less, as good as new.

That is, until a month ago when she'd started exhibiting signs of paranoia, claiming to have felt like someone was watching her, claiming that things in the house had moved. _Did you take knotgrass from the gardens for one of your potions Sev?_ she'd asked him. And then once he'd overheard her accusing Elma, the house-elf of moving the portrait of Lucius back into the study when he was supposed to be hanging up in the library. He'd waved away such minor misunderstandings until one night over supper she'd turned to Severus and said, _I do wish you'd ask me before you take plants from the greenhouse. If you wanted Asphodel I would've uprooted it for you._ And Narcissa had sounded so certain he'd merely apologized for not having asked her first and went back to eating. Which is why he'd gone to consult Healer Bell two weeks ago. Severus had explained the odd occurrences and although the old wizard had been a little reluctant to discuss matters without Narcissa being present, he'd suggested that perhaps her memory had been affected.

 _There can be, what I call, memory glitches, especially when the physical trauma is to the_ _amygdala and the hippocampus._ _Not to mention any other curses or spells she might have been exposed to—_ _it's difficult to tell in some cases, but it seems to me that perhaps she is simply forgetting having done these things. But we all begin to forget eventually Mr. Snape, even wizards._

The answer satisfied him and Narcissa seemed perfectly alright in every other sense, so he let it go and didn't think more of it. So, on that fateful day when the Daily Prophet came by owl while they were having their breakfast and he saw Draco's face on the front page upon unfurling it, he did not tell her.

"I think I'd like to try painting again. Remember when I used to paint Sev?" she said, taking a sip of her tea. "You and Lucius would tease me mercilessly for my sloppy enchantments."

He set the paper aside and took her hand. "Yes," he said. "I remember."

The gesture made her smile and it reminded him of her at seventeen.

"Perhaps you'll finally allow me to paint you," she teased.

He raised an eyebrow. "Never means never," he clipped letting go of her hand to pick up his fork. "I've told you once, I've told you twice—"

"Oh alright, fine. But what do you think really? Should I start painting again?"

He gave her a small smile. "I think you should do whatever makes you happy, Cissa. If your enchantments improve I'll consider sitting for you."

"How generous of you," she said, "but I am happy… I really am…"

He looked up at Narcissa and saw a twinkle in her eye and a smile playing on her face as she looked out at the expanse of land surrounding Malfoy Manor. An expression he hadn't seen her wear in years. Perhaps it was arrogance, but he was content to have had a hand in putting it there. This news though, it would devastate her.

He had only managed to read the headline but it was enough to know that he needed to assess the situation before having Narcissa find out about it. This idea of hers had come at an opportune time. It would keep her distracted and at home for at least a little while.

"I'll run out and get you the supplies myself," he offered.

She blinked. "It's sweet of you to offer but I can go, or Elma—"

"No really, allow me. I'd be honored to play a part in your artistic endeavors. Besides I have a few errands to run myself."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment but eventually, she said, "Well, if you insist. Oh, and could you bring me back those chocolates I like?"

He assured her that he'd return shortly with the supplies, chocolates and even a few books to get her reacquainted. "It's been years after all, you wouldn't want to begin blind."

"I remember my primary and secondary colors quite well," she laughed.

Folding his napkin, he insisted that it was better to have as many resources at her disposal and with a chaste kiss to her temple, he took the newspaper and left her sitting at the breakfast table with a slip of a smile. But he didn't get far because as soon as he stepped into the foyer Harry Potter was stepping out of the fireplace looking quite the madman.

His eyes grew wide in surprise as he turned and saw him. "Professor Snape—good you're here. I have to speak to you, urgently."

He grabbed the boy by the arm. "Quiet!" he hissed and Mister Potter fell silent as if he were in Severus' classroom once again. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes glancing down the hall. "I didn't want to intrude but…" His gaze fell down to the newspaper in Severus' hand. "You've read it, then?"

"In fact, I have not. I didn't want to upset Narcissa, not until I had answers. I was just on my way to the Ministry."

"Brilliant, let's go."

Without another word, the two wizards stepped into the fireplace and were engulfed in green flames as he spoke their destination.

Severus had not been inside the Ministry building for quite some time and when he stepped out of the floo he'd forgotten the grandeur of the atrium, the echo of footsteps across the marble as people came and went from the fireplaces lined against the long walls and the large victory statue which hung in the center atop the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

"Follow me," said Potter, and they walked till they reached the golden gates. Potter flashed a security clearance— what looked to be a badge of some kind—at the watch wizard and without a single question they were both allowed through.

 _This morning is moving far too fast_ , he thought to himself. It had only been yesterday when everything was quiet and settled…

They'd just stepped into the lifts when Severus turned to the boy and snapped under his breath, "How could you keep this from me?"

Potter opened his mouth to retort when a chubby hand appeared between the two closing doors of the lift.

"Just in the nick of time," chuckled the man stepping inside.

Severus pressed his thumb to the button to keep the doors open. "I believe you're already on the right level," he said, glaring at the young rotund face.

The cheery-eyed man's smile faded. He blinked and looked to Potter as if to ask for clarification.

Potter said nothing.

Severus raised a dark eyebrow. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Stuttering an apology, the man all but stumbled out and Severus allowed the lift doors to finally close. As soon as they had, Potter frowned.

"This isn't Hogwarts, Sir—and I only found out yesterday myself. Kingsley said he'd been holding onto it till he was certain the case concerned us."

"Case—what case?"

"Corban Yaxley was found murdered in New York. He had M.L carved onto his arm."

"So you automatically assume it's Draco. How utterly naïve and insipid of you, Potter."

The boy's face grew red. "I am not a student anymore. I am an Auror with the D.M.L.E and you will treat me with such respect."

Severus' lips thinned and there was a moment of tension where he wondered whether the boy would attempt to hex him again using one of his own spells.

"I only mean to say that it could be anyone. He wasn't a particularly likable wizard."

Potter shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "You sound like Hermione. I just came from her flat. She refuses to believe—"

"You _what_?" he hissed.

The lift doors opened onto the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Neither of them spoke again till Potter had navigated them to his office.

Severus shut the door behind him and in unison, they raised their wands to cast a silencing spell.

"Be my guest," scoffed Potter, lowering his hand. "You should've used it during sixth year when I overheard you and Malfoy speaking."

His eyes narrowed on the arrogant boy and Severus was starting to understand that Harry Potter thought himself a man now. So much like his dear old father. With a tight smile, he cast the spell and took a seat opposite Potter at his desk. Severus laid out the paper and began to read the article which had made the front page. He wanted to know what it said before continuing their discussion—although neither the Prophet nor Potter were what Severus considered reliable sources.

When he had finished, he looked up and asked, "What, pray tell, did you say to poor Miss Granger?"

"Ron and I went to her flat, right before I came to see you. I wanted to tell her before she read it in the papers. We thought it would be easier for her to hear it from us first."

"How kind of you to have extended that same gesture to Draco's mother," he said with another tight smile.

Potter ran a hand through his hair. "You have no idea how blind-sided we were yesterday—I'm sorry. If it means anything, we tried getting Kingsley to keep the press out of it but…" He cleared his throat. "Are you… are you and Mrs. Malfoy—?"

"No.," he said without further explanation. He held no delusions. He knew that their arrangement was odd; he lived with her in Lucius' home and took care of her as if she were his wife but they were not intimate. There was too much love between them to avoid each other entirely and far too much history to be together romantically. Narcissa had been unwell after the war and once she'd recovered Severus had suggested to her that he was no longer needed at the Manor. But she had looked at him with utter betrayal and he had had to clarify that he would stay as long as she'd have him. With pursed lips, she'd gone into her bedroom and not come out for two days. During those two days he'd warred with himself which path would be best; to leave his dead friend's ancestral home and his wife, who was now a widow, or to stay with the woman who had loved him most of her life.

He'd made his choice and now he had to stand by it. She must be protected at all costs.

Glancing up at Potter he asked, "Is there anything else that suggests this may be Draco?"

"Well, there's motive, the mark, not to mention we never found his body."

"Yes," said Severus. "But what evidence? This is all circumstantial. You cannot jump to such rash conclusions and upset people's lives, Potter. Imagine the damage you've caused by telling Miss Granger that Draco is alive when you aren't certain he is. Imagine the damage you will do to Narcissa—!"

"My intention is to solve a murder, not to—!"

Just then there was a knock on the door. Potter jumped from his seat and went to open it without revealing Severus inside. He muttered something inaudible to a girl who replied with a high shrill voice.

"My assistant Bethany," he supplied after he'd closed the door again. "Look, I know we've never been on good terms but I thought I should give you fair warning. Kingsley's getting a lot of pressure from this and he's ordered us to interview everyone—Mrs. Malfoy included."

Severus brought his fingers to steeple in deep thought. This was probably the worst thing to happen at a time like this. It could set Narcissa off. Severus would need to consult Healer Bell. The stress alone… and it did not make sense.

"Why now?" he challenged.

Potter leaned toward him across the desk. "Why what?"

"Why would Draco kill Corban Yaxley now? Why wait years to commit this murder? Years he could have spent with Miss Granger—and to leave her alone, for so long—and what of Fenrir Greyback's testimony? He claimed to have killed Draco himself. He confessed so at his trial under Veritaserum—"

"But Malfoy once told me he planned to fake his death in sixth year, I know he couldn't do it then, but maybe later—"

"While Voldemort was alive, while Narcissa was held prisoner at the Manor—yes. But why fake his death for three years after Voldemort's demise, and commit this murder now, after all this time?"

Potter stood as if the questions Severus were posing were far too strenuous to contemplate seated. He circled around his chair and turned to open a set of drawers, searching frantically for something. Cursing he marched around the desk and flung the door open.

"Beth! I need Fenrir Greyback's file! Now!"

Then he shut the door once again.

"I thought the answer to that was quite obvious," he said sitting down once more. "Malfoy's wanted for the murder of six other Death Eaters. It's easier to avoid the Ministry when no one is looking for you."

"But the timing? Why now? Why New York?"

"Corban Yaxley is slippery. Maybe it just took him a long time to flesh him out."

Severus wasn't convinced.

"And Greybacks testimony?" he challenged again. "Under Veritaserum."

Potter drummed his fingers on his desk. "Maybe it wasn't an effective batch of brew, or maybe it wasn't Veritaserum at all, he could've been slipped something else—"

"Why would he ever lie about killing Draco? I have never known that beast to lie before and it serves him no purpose."

Potter let out a sigh of exasperation and stood once again. Yanking the door open, he yelled to his assistant to hurry up and slammed the door shut. Severus could feel the panic roiling off the boy in waves and felt it was contagious. He could not let Narcissa hear about this, especially if it didn't hold a modicum of truth. Potter nor the Ministry seemed to know what was going on.

Taking a deep breath Severus sought to pluck the one question that could solve all of this. He tried putting himself in Draco's shoes, attempting to weave the timeline into something understandable. After a moment of tense silence in the office, his eyes snapped up, catching Potter's attention.

"It boils down to a single question, Potter."

His eyebrows furrowed.

"Which question would that be Professor?"

"Do you really believe that if Draco were alive he would have allowed his mother to bury not only her dead husband but her child? He would have told her, at least by now he would have told her or told Miss Granger. He would not have let them suffer as they have."

Potter turned pale. Because even he understood at that point that they'd made a terrible mistake; because Draco Malfoy would not have let the people he cared about grieve him all these years.

Severus stood from his chair and began buttoning his cloak. "I suggest you start widening your pool of suspects to those who are living, Potter. And I don't want the D.M.L.E calling upon Narcissa unless there is _actual_ evidence to suggest Draco Malfoy is alive and responsible for these murders. Is that clear?"

Without waiting for a response, he left Potter's office, giving a girl who he assumed was Bethany a scare as he swept past her. Stepping into the lifts to take him back to the atrium, he exhaled a breath of relief. His Godson was not responsible for this. It would've devastated Narcissa to have Draco back only for him to be taken away again and put into Azkaban. His return was a double-edged sword and yet Severus could not help but feel a burning behind his eyelids, the extinguished flame of a short-lived hope that perhaps he was alive.

Leaving the Ministry, he went to buy Narcissa her paint supplies as he ran his errands—mostly trips to special herbal vendors for rare ingredients which were hard to find in other potion stores. He had almost forgotten to buy the chocolates she had asked for but had luckily remembered at the very last minute.

It was past lunchtime when he arrived back at the Manor. She was reading a book he didn't recognize. A flicker of panic lit within him, wondering if she'd left the Manor to shop for books.

"What are you reading?" he asked casually as he entered the living room.

She startled and then composed her face into a serene smile. "Oh, it's just a book I bought some time ago," she said, closing it.

"And you're done?"

"Almost," she replied setting it aside. "Some endings take time."

He furrowed his brow, not quite grasping what she meant. "Where shall I set up the paints?"

"In the garden," she said, standing. "Oh, and Theodore Nott owled."

Once again his heart began racing, but he kept his tone indifferent when he spoke. "Oh?"

"The letter didn't say very much," she said, handing it over to him. "Only to say he'll be coming by this evening after work for a quick visit."

He raised his eyes to meet hers but she was too busy loitering around the living room, fluffing cushions which didn't need to be fluffed, straightening antiques which were already aligned.

"Well, I can't imagine what he wants, I suppose he has a potions question. He still dabbles and—"

Narcissa tutted. "He isn't coming to visit us, Sev. He's coming to see Draco."

Despite the years practicing his Occlumency around Voldemort he could not help but blink, allowing his cool façade to fade for a moment.

He repeated her words slowly. "He's coming… to see Draco?"

"His grave," she said softly. "Have you forgotten?"

It had slipped his mind that Theodore sometimes came to Malfoy Manor to visit Draco's grave. He hadn't come in such a long while. Neither had Miss Granger, thankfully.

"I haven't seen that sweet boy for some time," she continued. "It'll be nice to see him. Draco and he were like brothers when they were younger. They used to do everything together and now…. well now he has no one. It's quite sad really."

Severus hummed in agreement, although he had no inkling of what to say. He went to set up her painting supplies near the west side of the gardens where she'd get the best afternoon light and to indulge her a little, he sat near her for the rest of the afternoon making encouraging comments now and again. Meanwhile, he was worried about what Theodore Nott would say in Narcissa's presence. It was no coincidence that he had owled today, of all days.

Before he knew it, Narcissa had asked Elma to bring the evening tea and Severus waited, each second a moment away from possible chaos.

Fortuitously, she had gotten paint on her hands and on the sleeve of her robes.

"I'll be back toot-sweet!" she said, wiping them.

Severus flung the book down and went to the foyer to wait for Theodore to make an appearance, to warn him of what not to mention in front of Narcissa. He knew he couldn't continue with this deception but he just needed a little time. All of a sudden, the green flames in the fireplace roared and he almost flinched when it wasn't his former Slytherin student, but Miss Granger.

"Professor Snape," she said, a little breathless as though she was surprised to have found him there waiting at the Floo. "Are you—are you going somewhere?"

He ignored her question, looking her up and down with a frown. She was wearing a strange blue outfit and odd shoes, a handbag of sorts hanging from her shoulder. Her gaze followed his.

"Oh, these are my scrubs," she said, clutching tightly to the strap of her bag. "I'm a nurse in a Muggle hospital. Well, it's not really a hospital, it's more like a clinic, see my parents—well I don't know if you heard but…"

The rest of the sentence died on her lips as she realized she was babbling.

"First Potter, now you. My, my, I'm quite popular today. Draco should return from the dead more often."

Clearing her throat nervously she muttered, "Harry was here? What did he say?"

"Nothing which he hasn't already told you."

The Gryffindor drew in a breath. "And what did you say?"

"I told him to widen his pool of suspects to those who are among the living. Now, if you don't mind, Narcissa does not know and I'd like to keep it that way."

Miss Granger scoffed. "You think you can keep her from finding out? If it's in the Prophet today, it'll be in the Prophet tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that, until someone is in Azkaban. The whole of wizarding Britain will soon be talking about Draco if they aren't already. It's despicable—"

"Why have you come here, Miss Granger?"

She all but flinched. "I just… I just wanted to spend some time with him today."

He raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

Shrugging she said, "I just finished my shift and—it would be nice to say hello to Mrs. Malfoy too."

Severus let out a deep sigh. "Your presence upsets her, Miss Granger. Every time you enter this house you leave it with a grey cloud hanging over."

Her eyes fell to look at her shoes. He felt a tinge of guilt but he'd spoken the truth. "Spend as much time with Draco as you'd like, please. I didn't mean to wound you—"

"No, I understand," she said stoically and began to walk past him into the house toward the back gardens.

She turned once and said, "So you don't believe it either…"

He bowed his head slightly and it was answer enough.

* * *

Hermione opened the large curled-iron gates to Malfoy cemetery. Generations of Draco's family were buried here and she couldn't help but look at the names engraved as she went. Damp grass welched beneath her feet as she wound past headstones and grand mausoleums till she reached the grave she was looking for. A single tombstone under an ancient oak tree.

 _Draco Malfoy_

 _05 June 1980 – May 1998_

 _Beloved Son & Friend_

She traced the engraving starting with his name. It would've been his twentieth birthday this summer. May 1998…. Mrs. Malfoy hadn't engraved a date. Hermione thought it was because his mother had still secretly been searching for him, the same way she had spent those first few months looking. But he'd long but vanished and now there was no date, just a month.

Hermione sat underneath the tree, cross-legged and took her book out; a new one she'd found on memory charms. There was little sunlight left of the day and she thought to sit here with him and read awhile. She knew her behavior was a little odd. She knew he wasn't here, not his body nor his soul but it was a peaceful place. Mrs. Malfoy had taken the cemetery and pruned it as lovingly as she did her gardens. Every plot was decorated with the utmost care and every time she visited she found gardenia's lining his grave just as it had on the day of his funeral.

It was, Hermione thought, the most beautiful cemetery she'd ever seen.

She had managed to read two chapters of _Love in the Time of Cholera_ before hearing the gravel shift. She raised her eyes against the setting sun and saw a figure winding down the same path. She stood, wiping away the fresh soil and grass from her. He stopped in his tracks and she thought he might turn around and walk back but he continued on.

"Hi."

He didn't greet her back.

Theo must've come straight from work as she had done because he was wearing a clean white shirt and dark trousers beneath his robes. His trousers matched the exact color of his eyes and she wondered if he had spelled them that way.

"I didn't know you were here," he said.

She pursed her lips. Severus must not have told him. He probably assumed it wouldn't be a problem. They used to work closely together after all. How was he to know that it would be a terrible mistake?

Theo's eyes fell upon Draco's grave.

She shifted awkwardly beside him wondering if she should leave and allow him time with Draco without her. But then he was speaking. Something half-whispered under his breath.

Hermione turned to look at him.

"Did you know?" he asked a little louder.

"For God's sake," she sighed moving away from his headstone. "This is sacred ground." Not something she wanted to discuss especially in a place such as this.

Theo's chest began lifting, heaving, his eyes growing wild and restless. "He's not even buried here, Hermione. He's not even dead!"

Her hands curled, balling into fists at the way her name rolled off his lips. "It's not true," she muttered to herself. "What they're saying isn't true."

Theo grabbed her by her arms so suddenly it woke her from the dazed stupor she'd been walking around in all day. "You must've known all along," he whispered frantically. "You knew and you didn't tell me—"

"There's nothing to know, Theo. Let go of me," she winced.

"If he finds out—"

"Finds out what?" she hissed, yanking her arm free. "Nothing happened, _remember_?"

Theo was rubbing his face and Hermione turned her attention back to Draco's gravestone.

"If I had known, if I had any idea, I wouldn't have—I would've never..."

Hermione lifted her head, her eyelashes fluttering as she whispered, "Yes, yes, you would've, so don't pretend."

"Why not?" he rasped trembling. "Why can't I pretend, Hermione? You do it enough for the both of us."

Hermione walked over to a nearby Mausoleum, away from Draco. "Take it to our grave," she whispered. "That's what we said…"

Theo's eyes were dancing over her face. He took the smallest step towards her, lowering his voice. "But if it is him—"

"It's not, it's someone else—a copycat."

His throat bobbed. "And if it isn't?" he asked.

Her pulse dropped. "It is."

"But—"

"Draco is dead!" she snapped. " _He is dead_."

A dark cloud passed over Theo's face as he stared at her as though he could see right through.

Hermione practically jumped as he raised his fist, hitting the marble wall of the mausoleum behind her head; over, and over, and over again.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" she yelled, her heart beating wildly and her hand at her throat. His jaw was clenched and he was so lost that Hermione thought he hadn't even heard, wasn't evening listening. Grabbing onto his arm, she cried "Stop! Theo stop it!"

His anger gave way to breath-robbing sobs, and he crumpled into her, holding her tightly. She ran her fingers through his hair but didn't have the heart to tell him everything would be okay. Even after he had stopped crying, she merely held him.

He straightened and didn't bother wiping his face, so she did it for him. Hermione looked down to his right hand, his knuckles bloody and grazed. "I just really wanted him to be alive," he said as if he needed to explain. She nodded understanding the grief of losing him again. It was what she was avoiding. Hermione didn't want anyone to give her hope for something she'd come to accept.

"You miss him," she whispered.

"I'm tired of feeling alone."

Biting her lip, she took his battered hand in hers and began to heal it with her wand. She'd become quite adept at healing spells, during the war and especially after when she'd begun to use magic and muggle medicine in tandem. She brought his hand to her mouth and placed a soft kiss on it the way her mother had when she was a little girl.

"All better now," she said trying to smile.

Their eyes met and her cheeks burned. This was the first time he'd allowed her to touch him since…

He gulped when she stepped into him. They were north and south poles of a magnet and she couldn't help but be drawn in. It was Hermione who placed her hand on his heart and it was Hermione who raised her chin up to his face and planted her lips firmly on his. Her hand traveled up to touch the line of his jaw, her lips parting and capturing his. She wanted to thread her fingers through his hair and breathe him in, this warm, hard body that she remembered well.

And he kissed her back, whimpering.

She wanted to lie in the sound of it.

Before she could kiss him again, he tore himself away as if she'd burned him. He stared at her with accusation in his eyes, and when she tried stepping into him again, he recoiled.

"Theodore, wait," she tried saying.

But he was already halfway down the gravel path and it had barely been a whisper.

"You're not alone."

* * *

A/N: Big news I finally found an amazing Beta! Thank you Tiffywa for supporting my writing and making it even better x


	53. The Darker the Mark

All lessons were suspended, all examinations postponed. One by one, the bowels of the castle had begun to empty until there were only a few students from each house remaining. In their stead, a delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister for Magic himself, had taken up residence. Harry was diligently avoiding contact with any of them. He was sure that, sooner or later, he would be asked to account for Dumbledore's last excursion from Hogwarts—or what Hermione feared more—the true account of what happened that night on the Astronomy Tower.

She didn't trust Harry to keep his wits about him. The guilt hung on him heavily; guilt for Dumbledore, and she thought even perhaps for Draco. And try as she may, she didn't feel guilty, not even now, when Ginny was reprimanding her for lying about Draco's dark mark. She felt nothing, except a sort of numbness and the heat of the summer's day.

Hermione took off her shirt and didn't care that all she had under it was a camisole.

"How could you have lied to me?" asked Ginny. "I helped you, I covered for you even though I didn't have to. Why—I just want to understand why."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She was so tired of hearing these words. First from Harry, then Ron, and now her.

"You don't know what it feels like…"

"I do," she insisted. "I love Harry. You know that."

Hermione was shaking her head. "It's not the same," she began, her voice rising as she spoke. "Harry is… Harry's a hero. Harry has us, he has— _had_ Dumbledore, the Order, your mum, and dad, he has this way about him. He's humble and kind and… Draco is different. He's arrogant, and childish, and guarded, and delicate, and…and he's mine. It isn't pretty but all of that is mine and you won't understand what it feels like until you're holding him— holding his life in your hands while he tells you it's yours."

There were unshed tears glistening in Ginny's eyes. Hermione wasn't sure if they were for her, or for the ache of not having had that with Harry. At least not yet. Because Hermione wasn't blind, she suspected Harry had feelings for Ginny, but as she'd said, Harry was a hero. He wouldn't tell her now, he'd keep his feelings for her hidden in order to protect her from Voldemort—save the wizarding world—and then they'd be together.

Ginny looked out across the Great lake. "That's not fair," she said softly wiping her eyes. And even then Hermione wasn't sure she understood what Ginny meant. Maybe there was a part of her that envied Hermione for the time she'd had with Draco; envied them their recklessness.

"I know," she replied. "But I was scared Gin... I still am."

They sat in silence until she felt Ginny's fingers slide in between hers.

"Harry's going to leave, isn't he?" she said.

Hermione gave a slight nod.

Ginny smiled. "I always knew he wouldn't be happy unless he was hunting Voldemort… maybe that's why I love him."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione raised her eyes to meet Ginny's. "We're going with him. Ron and I… after the wedding."

Her friend gulped. "You're not going after Malfoy?"

"If I tried to…" the words fell dead on her lips.

"I was scared, too," said Ginny suddenly, her voice trembling. "I was scared that you'd go after him. I wasn't sure whose side—"

"I love Harry, and you, and Ron. I would never… this is my fight too."

"Good, because he needs you. I know there's more to what happened to Dumbledore than either of you are letting on. I tried to speak to him after the funeral but—"

"Gin," she sighed.

"No!" she snapped fiercely. "You called him a liar that night in the hospital wing and I believed you when you said it. I know he's not telling the whole truth and I'm not going to say anything to anyone but… it hurts when you keep me in the dark and it hurts even more when he does it."

Hermione fell silent. She had been a miserable friend to Ginny of late but there were no words of apology that would suffice and neither could she confess the full truth. It dawned on her that perhaps this is how Draco felt when she kept pushing him to confide in her and he'd made the mistake of thinking it would be better if she knew nothing.

What if she, herself, was repeating the same mistake by not telling Ginny? What if Harry was? Hermione wanted very much to tell her that Draco had never intended to actually kill Dumbledore by letting Death Eaters into the castle and that there were no sides. Only one. She opened her mouth to confess, to confess everything when—

"Look," said Ginny looking past Hermione's shoulder. "Nott's leaving."

Without a moment of forethought, she was standing and her feet were moving, practically running, toward the entrance hall.

Hermione was panting when she reached him. "You're leaving?" she said in between ragged breaths.

He raised an arrogant eyebrow. "Everyone is."

"Wait," she said. "Is he—?"

Nott's eyes flashed.

A warning.

Hermione looked around but there was no one. She thought if she could just get him alone he could give her some news. Perhaps he'd heard from Draco, or maybe he could get a message to him.

"Will you—"

"Quiet!" he cut in sharply, his eyes narrowing threateningly. "I'm going to say this once and only once. I don't want to hear another word from you, you meddling little mudblood. He's right where he belongs—with his mother, at home, by the Dark Lord's side. And you and your friends will be dead soon and everything will be as it should be."

Then he stepped into her, so close, she felt her body being emptied of breath and her limbs turning to stone. She didn't have her wand with her. Reaching up with his left hand he took a curl of her hair and wrapped it around his finger. The sleeve of his robe fell a little and Hermione didn't even gasp as the edge of the Dark Mark was revealed—a black taint on his fair skin—nor did she flinch when he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, "Now, be a good little Gryffindor and go back to your pet Potter… do you understand?"

Hermione stood immobile as he moved away, his cold stare piercing hers, trying to convey something through the silence. She stood still even after Nott had left.

It was only minutes later when Ginny's gentle hand shook her arm did she realize she'd simply been standing there, staring at the empty expanse of the castle grounds, shivering despite the bright sun.

"Hermione, are you okay? What did he say?"

She blinked.

"Draco's alive."

Tears of relief were running down her face because until then she hadn't allowed herself to consider that maybe he wasn't.

Ginny frowned. "And you trust Nott?"

"Yes," she said quickly and the answer caught her by surprise. "I trust him completely."

* * *

Later that night, as softly as she could, she crept out of bed and to her trunk. Opening it, she took out the brown paper parcel Harry had given her yesterday. She tip-toed past Lavender and Ginny's sleeping forms, and past Parvarti's vacant bed and out of the dormitory.

The fire in the common room was alive and roaring. She sat cross-legged on the rug, the wrapped gift in her lap. She hadn't had the courage to open it, had put it in her trunk and told herself it would be better if she never did. The paper was a little faded and worn as if Draco had been holding on to it for a while.

She stared at her name written neatly in the top hand corner. She traced the cursive letters, following the lines of his delicate handwriting and wanted to keep it just the way it was, with her name and the ribbon. When she opened it she'd have to throw away the wrapping, throw away his handwriting.

But that was a bad omen. To worry that she'd never see it again— see him.

Hermione closed her eyes.

It was time. She couldn't have it sitting in her trunk forever... besides, curiosity was winning her over. It was easy enough to guess that it was a book and she wondered which title it could be.

Hermione inhaled and tore the wrapping.

She deflated.

It was a hardcover copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , by Newt Scamander. She would have preferred to keep her name written in his hand.

Why would he have wanted to give her this? He knew she already had a copy of it. She picked up the book and opened it. A small slip of parchment fell out.

 _For the girl who reads everything, Happy Birthday. D. M_

Hermione put down the note and leafed through the book. Its pages were yellow and the type was outdated. The tips of her fingers pulsed against the pages… magic… a statis charm.

Frowning Hermione removed the dust jacket and found that it wasn't Newt Scamander's book at all. It was a book she'd never heard of called _Rare Protection Charms_ , by Chadwick Boot, one of the founders of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Something tickled at her memory. Hermione had gone to Flourish & Blotts to buy the fifth volume of Chadwick's Charms just before Fifth Year. She'd been skimming his biography upstairs when she'd turned and seen Draco and his father speaking in low tones. The only reason she remembered was because she had expected at least one Mudblood comment but when she'd passed them on her way out, neither of the two Malfoy men had so much as glanced at her.

She flipped through the front matter of the book and her pulse jumped.

It was a first edition, published in 1805.

She turned the page. There was a small inscription written in hand.

 _To my brother Webster, may it be love and not magic that we teach._

Hermione smiled. She didn't want to think of how the book had come into Draco's possession, only that he'd given it to her. Carefully she went through it, her eyes skimming each page ravenously.

It was a small book of spells she'd never heard of including a few simple ones they'd already learned. The shield charm, the Patronus, the intruder charm, but the others… there were concealment charms, magical protection barriers and other strange spells that caught her eye. One in particular, which she read in detail was a protection spell used to shield someone from harm, but there were limitations to its use. Firstly, the person would have to be within close proximity and secondly, it was temporary. It didn't say if the shield took physical manifestation or what it meant by 'protection', but either way she couldn't use it to help Draco.

Disappointed, she closed the book and promised to go through it meticulously tomorrow. There were other enchantments that would be useful when they were on the hunt for Horcruxes.

For now, she left Draco's safety in his own hands and trusted that Theodore Nott wouldn't let anything happen to him.

He'd taken the Dark Mark, revealed it to her, and he'd told her Draco was okay and where he was. She wondered if Theodore Nott knew about the rooms Draco had built in his mind, wondered if he had his own rooms, with their own locks, and what he'd hidden in them... if Luna was secreted away in one of them; a room with just the moon. When he had asked her if she understood—she had. She'd understood with perfect clarity.

 _Be a good little Gryffindor..._

The same words Draco had used once to remind her to remember her role, where they both stood. She had to be with Harry now; she had to pretend to have never known the touch of Draco Malfoy or his love.

* * *

A/N: Hello all, been super busy and my invaluable Beta reader tiffywa was unwell but there's another chapter following this to make it up to you. Also, I've gotten a lot of anxious reviews with a lot of questions. The fic will be about 200,000wds and hopefully be completed by the end of the year. Plotwise I won't say anything because I don't want to give anything away. I'll only say— have faith :)


	54. The Darker the Ashes

Four years later...

May, 2001

* * *

She shouldn't have kissed him. She should know better than to even touch him. Hermione pulled the covers tight around her and curled onto her side, staring out into the dark. This bed was too big for her. It wasn't meant to sleep one. If she stretched out her arm, there was all this wide empty space and no one to hold. She wondered how Theo did it. How he slept in a bed that was far too big for any one person and lived alone in a mansion that was far too large for any one family.

One of her favorite memories was one he had given her. It was the only one he'd allowed her to take, and although she didn't have a pensieve to watch it, she'd hidden it away in her vault at Gringotts and left it sitting next to Draco's wand. After Harry had returned it to her she worried that the Ministry would try to confiscate it, so she'd kept it in the safest place she could think of. It's why she'd locked away the memory there, too. She wanted to preserve it and didn't trust that Theo wouldn't try to take it back.

Even so, she didn't need to watch it again, she had replayed it in her mind enough to know it by heart. It was when he and Draco were both seven. In the years before his mother had fallen ill, Theo had been very excitable as a child. Draco, on the other hand, was almost the same as he'd been during his earlier years at Hogwarts— mischievous and sly; that same roguish gleam in his eyes when he thought he'd gotten away with something.

Theodore was sleeping over and the two boys had drawn out a meticulous plan on how they were both going to sneak out of Draco's room after bedtime. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were very serious about children going to sleep at a proper hour. The two boys thought it would be an adventure to sneak into the kitchens past midnight and make a mess so that upon waking the elves would wail with terror. Theo thought it would be funny to rearrange everything like if the knives and forks were in the pantry and the vegetables were left in the drawers and if the plates were stacked on top of the bowls, and the bowls on top of the serving plates—a tower of tableware precariously balanced.

 _And just imagine Dobby walks in and crash!_ laughed Draco. Theo had grinned widely because it was exactly as he imagined and he liked that Draco was imagining it the same way.

They'd both waited till midnight feigning sleep. Hermione had watched with amusement as Draco opened one eye and said, _the coast is clear._ Tiptoeing outside along the dark long corridors of Malfoy Manor, they made their way to the ground floor where the kitchens lay by moonlight. It was an ancient house and the wood creaked all round frightening them. It hadn't helped that it had been in the dead of winter making the Manor seem even colder and unfriendly.

 _Maybe we should go back_ , said Theo but Draco had scowled and accused him of being a Hufflepuff. Sidling closer to one another they continued on.

Suddenly an unfamiliar voice croaked.

 _I'm going to break your bones you wretched little boys! Go to bed!_

They had screamed like two little girls and went running straight back to their rooms, leaping back into Draco's bed and under the covers. Their hearts were pounding and they hugged each other tightly as if the monster were on their heels and about to jerk the duvet off to punish them for their heinous crimes.

Once she'd resurfaced from the memory, Theo had clucked his tongue in amusement and explained that it had only been Abraxas, Draco's grandfather. _A bloody portrait_ , he sighed, rolling his eyes.

Hermione had almost wanted to laugh, unable to fathom the idea of living in a house so large that you weren't sure what else resided in it.

Maybe it was why it was one of her favorite memories. Because they'd both been so innocent, so silly and bursting with childish glee. Because there were no more memories of them together like that after Theo's mother died, only paler versions of that night when Draco would try and coax the same excitement, the same spirit his friend had possessed before, but Hermione could see that there were two Theo's.

Before, and after.

Just as there were two Draco's and two Hermione's.

Before, and after.

So no, she shouldn't have kissed Theo. Shouldn't have ever peered into his memories. She had forgotten that they weren't just memories of Draco. They were memories of Theo and it had been a dangerous game to play.

A shiver ran down her spine at the paralyzing fear that Draco was watching, that his ghost knew of her traitorous heart and what she'd done. She'd never paid attention to religion but lately, she'd begun to think that when she died she'd go straight to hell… even if it had begun with saving a life.

* * *

It had happened last Christmas Eve. The Weasley's were throwing what they called, an intimate Christmas party, which had ended up with a list running close to a hundred guests, excluding their plus ones.

Hermione had worn a red dress at Ginny's insistence. It was a slip of a thing, silk, simple, with a low neckline and thin straps. Her friend had declared war on Hermione's non-existent love life.

"I know you miss him," she kept saying. "But you deserve to have a handsome wizard on your arm. Even Ron is bringing that silly American girl he met and Neville..."

Hermione tuned out. She hated when Ginny pointed out how long it had been since Dumbledore's death—since the war—since Draco's funeral. The truth was that no wizard wanted to date the girl who had once been in love with a Death Eater, especially a Death Eater who was notorious for being a turncoat and resorting to killing other Death Eaters and cutting M.L into their arms.

Sure, Rita's books had been destroyed but the rumors were enough.

"I'm wearing the dress, aren't I?" she muttered with a hint of irritation.

Ginny sighed as if this topic was as exhausting for her as it was for Hermione. "I want you to be happy," she said. "That's all."

She hugged her friend. "I know, and I love you, and that's why I'm wearing the dress—and make up—and heels."

The party itself was outside the Weasley's burrow, which had been rebuilt the year before. Hermione wasn't surprised when she'd first been invited to see the finished reconstruction, to find that there were Muggle appliances and other knick-knacks which Arthur had proudly brought home and presented to everyone as his hidden treasures.

The day before the Christmas party the grass was trimmed and a huge silver marquee erected to shelter them from the cold weather. It reminded her so much of Bill and Fleur's wedding that she couldn't help but think back to that night and how lovely it had all been until the Ministry collapsed and Death Eaters arrived.

However, tonight the Weasleys had gone above and beyond on Christmas decorations—muggle and magical. Fairy lights were blinking in multi-color and a large Christmas tree stood smack in the middle, almost touching the roof of the marquee, adorned with baubles, tinsel, and holly; garlands upon garlands of mistletoe and ivy. Outside, it was snowing, but a warming charm had been cast over the entire tent and it was snug and cozy inside. It took only a few minutes for guests to arrive and fill the entirety of it up. Glasses and goblets clinked, wizard crackers were popped, the sound of them like cannons firing filled the tent, and wands were turned into sparklers.

The dozens and dozens of gifts that were piled under the Christmas tree were slowly depleting as guests arrived and began opening their presents. Harry, Hermione and Ron had gotten together and bought Ginny a new broom and despite wanting so very much to ride it then and there she'd put it away and handed Hermione her gift. It was a perfume she'd wanted to buy but had decided against upon seeing the price. Muggle education had turned out to be a lot more expensive than she'd initially thought and she could no longer afford to spend the little she had left on just about anything.

And as usual, Harry and Ron had bought her a galleon's worth in book vouchers and she'd grinned because she was glad that some things would never change. Later on in the night, after two glasses of Christmas wine, Molly had announced to them of a surprise guest who had just arrived yesterday.

"Luna!" Hermione cried out.

They jumped into each other's arms and everyone else being a little drunk, fell upon them creating one big huddle.

Her friend had grown taller and a little plumper but was as beautiful and peculiar as always.

"I haven't seen you in years," said Ginny. "How was your trip? Where's your dad?"

Luna began to tell them all about her research and the adventures she and her father had embarked on since the war. Her father went to Russia and Luna to America in search of some odd creature called a Mulpin.

"Oh, and I'm engaged," she added casually after twenty minutes of explaining to them what a Mulpin was. Ginny's jaw dropped and a barrage of questions were thrown against Luna so fast the girl looked as if her head was spinning.

Hermione, on the other hand merely smiled. She was happy for her, but there was also the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that writhed with envy at everyone else's happy endings.

And then another feeling. One so completely opposite to the former and which took her by surprise— relief.

Utter and selfish relief that Luna Lovegood had returned to Britain and it hadn't been for Theodore Nott… which meant that in the late hours of night when she couldn't sleep, she could still go to him and he would show her memories and they could snipe and snap at each other without another woman's interference or anyone else's opinion on how strange it all was.

Besides… Hermione needed him a lot more than Luna did. He was the one who had bought the publishing house and the rights to the Mudblood Lover. He was the one who had fired the Chief Editor and offered Hermione the job out of pure spite. He was the one who set the remaining copies of the book ablaze and told her everything would be ok. Who also suggested trying muggle medicine with magic to reverse the effects of the memory spell on her parents.

She needed him to arrive at her flat unannounced, barge into her bedroom and drag her to office on those difficult days. He was the one who criticized her, who called her out when her work was subpar, who insulted her till she was boiling over with such righteous indignation that she'd begun to excel at her job and proved, time and time again, that she, Hermione Granger, was still the brightest-witch-of-her-age.

It wasn't jealousy, she told herself. It was about surviving. And as if Luna could read her thoughts she asked, "How is Theodore?"

Startled, she looked around her. Harry and Ginny were dancing and Ron had gone to greet his date who had only just arrived.

"What?" snapped Hermione a little defensively. "How would I know?"

"I thought you two worked together."

She smiled politely. "He owns the publishing house, but Nott owns multiple businesses. It's not as if we have adjoining offices."

Luna's expression fell a little.

Trying to feign indifference, Hermione sipped delicately on her drink before asking, "You haven't spoken to him at all?"

"I've sent letters but he's never replied to any of them."

That answer gave Hermione some semblance of peace and she looked away into the crowd, wanting for some reason not to linger close to Luna for too long.

"I worry about him sometimes," she continued looking up at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. "He needs someone who cares."

Hermione took a large gulp of her drink and then another, remembering how he had once told Luna she was like the moon.

"It must be difficult for him to be alone today," she heard her say.

Frowning, she asked why.

"His mother died the day before Christmas." Her gaze drifted over Hermione and seemed to look around her, up above her head and over her shoulders...

Finally, Luna's eyes met hers and said almost pointedly, "I guess it's not me he needs anymore."

And then she was the one to drift away, like a strange ethereal being, leaving Hermione staring after, wondering, with utmost horror what she had seen.

She immediately shook the thought off.

Hermione excused herself and went to the washroom to get away for a moment from all the noise. Theo had never spoken about his mother. She'd never thought to ask and he'd never offered. And why would Luna assume he was on his own? Surely he was with Pansy and Blaise or one of his little trophy girlfriends—Merlin knew, he had a line of them waiting.

Nevertheless, the conversation left her with an anxious feeling. With a quick word to Molly about having drunk a little too much, she said she was going to retire for the night. Despite their protestations, Hermione floo-ed home with her gifts and then again to Nott Manor. It was almost midnight and it wouldn't hurt to wish him a Merry Christmas. It would settle the niggling worry and guilt she felt at her own self-centeredness. Never had she considered that Theo might not have plans nor want to see her on Christmas. He treated her like an irritation, like a rash he couldn't seem to get rid of or cure.

And yet she knew his actions said otherwise.

The manor was a stark contrast to the brightly lit and loud party she had just left. Not a single decoration had been hung. Here, in his home, it was as if it weren't Christmas at all. She called out his name as she walked up the stairs. It echoed down the empty corridors until it faded again into eerie silence.

Something didn't feel right. An inexplicable dread at the pit of her stomach. The same thing which had tugged when Luna had looked at her and seemed to know something she didn't.

"Theo?" she called again.

Her feet took her down the left corridor and to the library. He was usually there reading. It was one of the only rooms she remembered how to get to. That and his bedroom because that was where the pensieve was.

Lighting the end of her wand with a _lumos_ she continued on till she reached the correct door. The room was empty and unlit. Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe he ignored Christmas Eve and treated it as if it were any other day and was already fast asleep in bed. Even still, she continued down to his bedroom instead of leaving. She wouldn't wake him, she'd just poke her head in and…

He was lying in bed, asleep, just as she'd thought.

Closing the door quietly she began to leave when it suddenly occurred to her that he'd been lying on top of the covers and not under them. He'd been fully clothed and the doors to his balcony left open. He'd catch his death. Rolling her eyes, she imagined that maybe he had decided to get into the Christmas spirit and just had a bit too much.

Hermione went back into the room and shut the balcony doors first and then to the edge of his bed to tuck him in. As she neared she kicked something, and it rolled away underneath the bed. With a groan of irritation, she bent down to retrieve it. Once she felt it in her hand she rose up and held the light close. It was a clear glass bottle with some sort of pills inside. She read the label but didn't recognize what it was.

A cold hand clutched at Hermione's heart as it dawned on her that the bottle was almost empty and what that might mean. The dim light from her wand flew around the room, lighting the candles.

She gasped, falling to the bed next to Theo.

He looked dead.

"Theo!" she shouted shaking his shoulders. "Theodore, wake up!"

She tried to revive him using her wand but it wasn't working. Hermione made fast work to check his pulse and exhaled in relief as she felt something. The faintest of heartbeats. She knew then what she had to do.

Even with a feather-light charm, he was dead weight against her and she almost stumbled as she lifted him to his feet and took him to the master bathroom. She turned the tap on with her wand and stepped into the shower, drenching them both. She held him under the spray of ice-cold water, and then because she'd never learned the spell, she stuck her fingers far down his throat to induce vomiting.

He began to retch. Stuttering through tears, she told him it was going to be okay and rubbed at his back until his stomach was empty. Shaken awake into semi-conscious by the cold water, he leaned against the marble tiles of the shower. She turned the water off, vanished his wet clothes and cleaned them both up. She helped him to his bed and forced him to drink a few sips of water.

Theo's body shuddered despite the blankets and warming charm she draped over him.

"Bet… bet you love seeing me like this," he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel. "Perfect revenge for you… isn't it?"

Her frown deepened. Even as he spoke his eyes glistened with unshed tears, his body shaking from the immediate withdrawal of whatever he'd ingested. She ignored him, sliding beneath the blanket and drawing it over them.

"Don't," he rasped.

Molding her small frame to his, she held onto him tightly as if it were her and not him that needed a lifeline. "Stop it," he choked, struggling against her with what little energy he had.

"It's okay," she whispered, tightening her hold on him. "It'll be okay…"

He buried his face into his pillow, his entire body shaking and she knew he was crying. After he fell back into unconsciousness, she spent the next hour listening to his shallow breathing, compulsively taking her index and middle finger holding them to the carotid artery on the side of his neck, counting out heartbeats.

One, two, three, four… his pulse was weak and slow. Almost dead, still alive.

She fell asleep like this and awoke with her fingertips still lingering near his pulse point. He seemed better, there was more color on his cheeks, and his breathing was deep and peaceful. Exhausted, she let her eyes fall shut. When she awoke the second time it was light outside, a wintery silver overcast and falling snow.

Theo was no longer in bed. She heard the water running in the bathroom. Sitting up, she noticed that the bedroom was spotless, except for a plate by his bedside with a half-eaten piece of toast and an empty vial of an anti-nausea potion.

Letting her head fall back on the pillow, she released a heavy sigh. He was okay and it was Christmas. In fact, it was almost noon and if she didn't leave now, she'd miss Christmas lunch with Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

But there was no way she was leaving him.

She didn't even want to. Last night had scared her. Finding him like that… Hermione could not bear the thought of losing him like she had lost Draco.

Writing a message to Harry, she said she would drop by tomorrow, that she had been asked to cover a colleague's shift at the clinic so he could be with his family on Christmas. A bald-faced lie.

And the last time she'd lied about who she was with and where it was because she was hiding a tumultuous affair with a Death Eater.

Hermione bit her lip as she watched her Patronus disappear and wondered what reason she had for lying now. She could have simply told Harry that she was with Theo and couldn't make it for lunch and she'd explain later. She could have even invited Theo to join them, it's not as if they would have minded him being there but she didn't want to be with them right now.

She wanted to be with Theo. Just Theo. And maybe that was the truth she was so afraid of admitting to them. To herself.

The bathroom door opened. A towel hung low around his hips as he stepped into the room. She tore her eyes away, looking everywhere but at him.

"You're still here," he said, sounding irritated that she hadn't left yet.

Ignoring him, she asked how he was feeling. He didn't respond and his silence forced her to look at him. He was staring. She followed his gaze to her shoulder and saw that the delicate strap of her dress had slid off.

"I was at a Christmas party," she explained quickly, fixing the strap and drawing a pillow over her braless chest. "Ginny made me wear it."

"She made you dress like one of Santa's little slags?"

Hermione grit her teeth. "I don't… I asked how you were feeling."

"I'm fine," he clipped, clearly unwilling to talk about it. "Look—thanks and all but you can go now."

"But it's Christmas," she shrugged.

"So?"

"I don't know. We could go somewhere—talk... you're not _fine_ Theo."

He ran a hand over his face and up through his hair, a harsh laugh playing along his lips. "What? You think I actually want to spend time with you—today, of all days?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. "I just—you're alone and I'm… I'm already here so..."

"Stupid fucking bint," he muttered under his breath. "I don't want you here. I never want you here! I'm not Draco—you don't have me wrapped around your little finger!"

Hermione's mouth fell open.

He was shaking.

"I didn't—"

"I don't love you!" he yelled. "I don't even fucking like you!"

She stood, her heart throbbing because there was something so painfully nauseating at hearing those words as if he'd punched her in the gut and she felt like keeling over.

And when someone is trying to hurt you, your instincts tell you to fight back.

"I should've just let you die," she whispered. And the sentence floated between them, pulling him closer to her.

Her chest heaved with anger, watching his eyes, waiting for the thought to settle, for it to cut, for a retort, for a shouting match and she expected anything other than the shattered expression on his face.

"Is that what you really want?" he asked in a soft voice. "Do you want me to die?"

Her feet shuffled backward, the back of her legs hitting the bed frame. "Yes," she lied, her voice like sandpaper, fractured and rough. "I wish you were dead and Draco was alive."

His chest heaved, his jaw working to fight back the tears. "You don't mean that," he choked.

A single tear ran down her cheek and she tasted it when she lied again. "I do, I wish you were dead."

She fought for breath as he stepped closer, her body trembling. Trembling because she sensed what was coming. Knew he could sense it too. And then his lips were near hers, their warm breath meeting.

"You don't... You know you don't."

Her heartbeat drummed. A feather-light feel of his lips and then they were touching, just barely. Not yet a kiss but something else. Something broken. She moaned into his mouth as his lips parted, finally capturing hers. She pressed a little firmer, her hands moving to wrap around his neck and pull him deeper. Hermione felt his hands running down her back, pulling at the delicate fabric of her dress, his tongue gentle and wet in her mouth.

He broke the kiss.

God— she couldn't breathe, was too afraid to look at him.

He was panting, his dark eyes watching her as his fingers ran along the straps of her dress and slid them off her shoulders.

"This dress…" His throat bobbed.

The silk fell, her breasts exposed for him as he cupped them reverently. Her head fell back against the bedpost. Her nipples pebbled underneath his hands and she still couldn't breathe. Couldn't...

His palm slid up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin.

"I want you," he rasped. "I want to fuck all the misery out of you… all the happiness… all the fire and light—fuck it right out of you so it can't torture me anymore."

Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt her cheek turn into his hand, her body shuddering at his promise. And then they were kissing again, his body pulling her against his. Their hands clawing and tearing, their mouths savage and devouring.

She fell back on the white sheets. Then his lips were on her neck, her dress hitched up to her waist and she heard the soft slap of his wet towel falling to the ground. She hadn't realized it had been her hands which had pulled at it and tossed it to the floor, that it was her hands tugging down her knickers and pulling him close, relishing the feel of his hard length pushing against her entrance.

She raised her hips impatiently and he practically flinched, releasing an anguished groan into her neck and she pulled him up to look at him.

Instinct—an old reflex.

Draco had always wanted her to look.

Except it wasn't Draco, it was Theo and he was wearing a pained expression on his face.

"Merlin, I can't, I… Hermione stop us."

But she didn't.

She didn't want to stop.

Because Draco was dead.

And yesterday Theo had almost died too. Hermione hushed him, pushing him off and climbed to straddle him. Her gaze unwavering, she sunk down on top of him, inch by inch. It was such a relief to feel the sensation of being filled once again that tears were springing to her eyes and she could have cried out her respite for the world to hear.

He uttered a curse, his hands running over her body frantically. "Please—please don't tell anyone," he begged and she agreed, not knowing if he was asking her to keep the pills a secret, or them… this. She fell forward, pressing her forehead against his.

His jaw clenched, his fingers dug into her flesh as she lifted her hips up and fell back down on him. It had been so long, but it came to her like breathing. She could feel his heartbeat underneath the palm of her hand but it wasn't enough. Her two fingers reached up to the side of his neck, pressing gently once again into his carotid artery. She kissed him while rising up and impaling herself on him, over and over again.

His pulse quickened, beginning to race while he let her count the number of beats out loud… till she could barely think straight…till her fingers slipped... till they were both writhing against each other, his hips slamming up to meet hers in desperation, begging and whimpering her name.

Later, after he came, she spent hours touching him, her fingertips turning his skin into gooseflesh, her lips, hot between his collarbone, peppering kisses over his chest, moving his body, his limbs, over and around gently, reading him like the pages of a book.

Lying next to him on her stomach, she took his left forearm and kissed his wrist above the faded Dark Mark.

"Did it hurt?" she asked—a question she had never thought to ask before.

"Like hell," he said bluntly. "It's almost sentient… as if it knows when it's not wanted."

Her fingers traced the veins running like blue rivers down his arm, starting from his wrist, leading up to the mark and over it.

He withdrew his hand, obviously uncomfortable with her looking at it and began trailing his fingers down her spine. She gave a contented sigh and closed her eyes.

"Dimples of Venus," she heard him murmur.

Hermione saw a flash of memory like an old film reel playing behind her eyelids.

Without meaning to speak the thought out loud, she whispered, "When my hair is wet it almost touches them." She opened her eyes to meet his, a blush suffusing her cheeks and that was the first time she saw it. The way he was looking at her… the way Draco used to look at her.

"I'd love to see," he said softly; very much like a confession.

Her heart constricted, terrified and ashamed.

And guilty, guilty, guilty.

And then she heard Draco's voice.

 _Not bad for a Mudblood whore._

That's when she told Theo. "We can't do this again. We can't..." The words stuck in her throat; a phantom taste of bile.

She felt the entirety of him stiffen.

His eyes never left hers as his fingers trailed lower, down to the base of her spine, along the valley of her bum. Gasping, her body jerked forward in surprise as his fingers suddenly entered her; her cunt still wet and filthy with their essence from the first time.

He hushed her when she began to whine, still sensitive from their first encounter. Then, for the second time that afternoon he entered her, from behind, his hands gripping her hips, both thumbs fitted over her dimples, thrusting.

She didn't dare look at him anymore and buried half her face in the pillow. Theo's palms slid up her back and over her shoulder blades; his warm body lowering and encasing hers.

His lips kissed the nape of her neck.

"You're so beautiful, it burns."

Fisting the bedsheets, her conscious screamed with self-hatred as her lips parted and it was Theo's name that escaped it. He bit into her shoulder, grunting in approval. She gasped as his thrusts began burying deeper, muttering a stream of gibberish as her mind began to blank.

He growled, his grip unbearably painful, but it was okay because they'd never do this again.

Never again, never again. God forgive her, never again.

Hermione must have said it out loud because he was agreeing, vowing with a shaky breath that it'd only be today. Then he slid out of her and turned her over to capture her lips, a desperate, longing kiss, his fingers reaching down to touch her softly, keeping the pleasure at the surface but never letting it come up for air. She clung to him, writhing wanting badly for him to finish what he'd started.

He bit his lip enjoying her desperation. "Be patient," he whispered.

Hermione whimpered in frustration but gave her body over. Together, they submitted to each other, prolonging Christmas as much as they could. Finally, at dusk, he allowed her to succumb to the sensations, to the pulse of them and her mind amidst the euphoric bliss, drifted to all those nights ago at Hogwarts, when he'd cornered her and told her he'd make it worth her while.

Theodore Nott hadn't lied and neither had she.

Because after that...

Never again.

* * *

The next day, she gave her notice of resignation and then a week later she opened up the Daily Prophet to find him pictured with some tall skinny brunette at a New Year's Gala.

The paper had turned to ash in her hand.


	55. Passing Judgement

_June 5, 1998_

* * *

The room was shrouded in darkness. The curtains drawn, the lights switched off. There was a terrible pounding on the front door but Hermione could not move to answer it.

She could not sleep or eat.

She could only exist.

Breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

And even that seemed to hurt.

The little light coming through the gaps in the curtain hurt.

The silence hurt.

The noise hurt.

There was nothing that felt safe. No part of her that didn't feel empty.

She was skin and bone and a beating heart.

The pounding continued and she considered that perhaps the world was ending outside her flat.

A loud crack followed.

Then another, and still she didn't budge.

They were just sounds; meaningless echoes.

Ginny, Harry, and Ron burst through her room door, their wands drawn and looking wild.

"Hermione," said Ginny breathlessly. "We were calling you and…" she looked around the room, "why didn't you answer? Are you okay?"

She blinked. Her throat felt hoarse and incapable of speech, so she simply nodded.

Sitting down on the bed alongside her, Ginny asked, "You sure?"

With painstaking effort, she slowly formed the words, "I'm fine."

"Harry," said Ginny to him gently. "Go get some water."

He left, leaving Ron to linger awkwardly at the foot of her bed. "Why didn't you respond to our letters?" he demanded and she could hear the reproach in his voice.

She felt so exhausted with all their questions. Why, why, why? Why couldn't everyone just leave her alone?

After taking a moment to clear her throat, she said that she'd been busy.

The two siblings shared a look of concern.

"Busy?" echoed Ginny eyeing the state of the room once again. "Busy with what?"

She explained that she'd been looking for Draco. That today was his birthday and she'd bought him a gift and wanted to give it to him.

"Hermione…" Ginny slowly took her hand in hers, tears glistening in her eyes. She raised it to her lips but paused, her eyes growing wide.

"Where's your bracelet?" she asked. "You've taken it off?"

For a moment she didn't know. Had forgotten she ever had one. It was like trying to recall a very old memory. What had she done with the bracelet? Where had she been all this while? How much time had passed since she found the coin? These were all the things she had wanted to forget but they were making her remember.

"I created a spell," she murmured softly. "A tracking spell. I thought if I could use the bracelet—"

Someone clicked their tongue in irritation. Hermione paused and slowly turned her head. Seated languidly at her dressing table was Draco. She rubbed the drowsiness out of her eyes and raised herself to sit up.

Maybe she was still sleeping and this was a dream.

" _You thought you could use the bracelet," he drawled with a roll of his eyes. "Silly little witch. Should've known not to give you something so delicate—"_

"Hermione?"

Her gaze found Ginny's.

"You were saying, about the bracelet…"

But Draco was still speaking to her.

"— _can't trust you with anything—"_

Harry walked in with a glass of water in his hand. "Here you go," he said trying and failing, to smile.

"— _and now you have nothing left of me."_

She took it, her fingers trembling and drained the entire glass.

" _It's alright," he sighed. "I'll buy you another… you know I'd give you the world if you asked for it."_

She cringed at the sharp clarity of the hallucination as if he were really here in her room—and that's what it was, a hallucination. Her eyes pressed shut, praying it would stop. But when she opened them Draco was still there dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, the Slytherin tie hung loosely around his neck.

Ginny frowned. Slowly, she looked over to the dressing table to where Draco was sitting. "What is it?" she asked. "What happened to the bracelet? Is it on your dressing table or in your—?"

Hermione shook her head, trying to ignore him. He wasn't real. "The spell—"

 _Draco gave her a small smile. "Merlin I miss you—"_

"The spell consumed it and—"

" _Every moment I'm not with you—"_

And the past began to echo in her ears, his molten silver eyes like burning memory.

"— _I'm waiting to be with you."_

She took a moment to catch her breath. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want anyone to know. She wanted to be fine.

"'Mione, what's wrong?"

"Are you alright—is she alright?"

Hermione buried her hands in her hair and tugged at the roots. It was too much. Everyone was speaking at the same time but she could only hear a chorus of, _I'm waiting._

And she just wanted everyone to shut the hell up. Most of all him.

" _I'm waiting."_

"I know," she choked, tears stinging her eyes. "I know—"

"You know?" said Harry looking cautiously around the room. "Hermione, who are you speaking to?"

 _Draco bolted up from the chair, his face suddenly twisted in derision._ " _Then help me!"_

A tear escaped.

And then another, and another.

She pushed the heel of her palms into her eyes to make it stop.

Taking deep breaths, she began again, "I needed something… his essence… his magic… the spell consumed it—"

A soft sob escaped her.

"The bracelet was all I had," she whispered. "It worked though, it led me to a cliff, the one Greyback…the one he…" She found she couldn't finish, so she showed them instead. She put her hand under her pillow and revealed a galleon.

Harry looked at it for a moment before comprehension dawned on his face. His knowing green eyes met hers and they were full of regret and pity.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

" _You said you loved me."_

Her fingers curled around the protean-charmed coin, pressing it tightly into her palm.

" _You said you loved me."_

Cracking under the weight of his accusation, she swore to him, "I do, I do love you!"

"Hermione—?"

" _Then why haven't you found me yet!"_

Locking her eyes on his, she screamed back, "BECAUSE YOU'RE DEAD!" and it came out a mangle of noise, barely coherent words. Her chest heaved and a wail of agony left her throat, piercing the ether and shattering the windows and mirror.

"PROTEGO!" yelled Ron.

A shield charm appeared in time to protect them from the shards of glass, and their eyes were wide with shock and fear.

"He's dead," she sobbed. "He's dead, he's dead, he's really dead."

And she couldn't stop saying it.

Her friends fell around her, holding her tightly and even then, she still kept saying it.

Because there was no one at the dressing table. Draco was gone. She'd finally admitted it and he was gone.

But Harry, Ron, and Ginny hadn't been figments of her imagination and they were with her. They loved her. And still twenty-seven days passed before she spoke again; before she understood that her body would continue to go on living, despite her heart not wanting to.

* * *

 _May 2001_

* * *

The gates of Zabini manor were open and Hermione admired the water fountain at the center of the large front gardens, gushing beautiful pastel hues against the afternoon light. The night of Pansy and Blaise's wedding, it had been bubbling sparkling champagne, an idea which Daphne had taken credit for with boastful bridesmaid pride.

Zabini's family home was even larger than Malfoy manor but less ostentatious, almost simpler. Hermione found she quite liked it. It was less intimidating than Theo's and had given her somewhat happy memories unlike Draco's.

She was about to knock on the door when an immaculately dressed elf opened it swiftly.

"May I help you?" she asked eloquently.

Hermione stared at this doll-like creature. "Yes, hello, I'm here to see Pansy."

"Please, do come in," she answered smoothly. "The Mistress is taking a bubble bath. I will inform her of your arrival, Miss..."

"Miss Granger," smiled Hermione, unable to suppress her amusement.

"You may address me as Minnie," said the elf before doing a little curtesy and disapparating.

Hermione lingered a while in the foyer but grew restless waiting. Her feet began to take her upstairs to the bedroom she had found solitude in that fateful night.

The manor was so different from the way she remembered it. Quieter. Empty. Not how it had been that evening.

Pansy had chosen the most beautiful centerpieces; bouquets of jasmine and white roses, flowers adorning everything, even the banisters; delicate silverware and crystal glasses; floating lanterns and a miniature of the Hogwarts train, chugging around the room, chocolate truffles in each carriage for guests to take. She knew that no other wedding, including her own, would ever hold a candle to the one the Slytherin heiress had planned. Her dress alone…

Normally she'd turn away from such extravagant displays of wealth but Pansy and Blaise had looked so happy and Hermione imagined that Draco would've been happy for them. Besides, it was a little bit difficult to look down your nose at things when you'd been invited to take part in them, to feel as though you belonged and not as an outsider.

The entire evening was utterly magical. Even Neville couldn't help but look around the estate in absolute awe. Harry had not wanted to escort her and she couldn't blame him for saying so. She had thought about asking Ron but knew that things between them were delicate, that he needed time away from her, from everything.

She blamed it on curiosity when she'd decided to go and was grateful for Neville having agreed to take her, and in the end, she was glad she did. Naturally, a lot of people had heard of Neville's bravery and his growth spurt hadn't done him any disservice. Witches kept coming up to them and gushing at him, smiling at Hermione nervously while they flirted with her date. They knew Neville and her were just friends but she found that if she stared at them long enough, they'd skitter away with a flimsy excuse, glancing back at her as they retreated.

Draco had made people afraid of her by association. It was rather fun...

At a point after the ceremony, as she watched Pansy and Blaise take their first dance, Hermione recoiled into herself needing desperately to be alone. Happiness was a weight on her. This ugly envious parasite had burrowed in her soul and she liked to hide it.

So she wandered through the house away from the music and dancing and laughter. Absently she walked around studying portraits, peeking into rooms, and shockingly enough not one portrait called her a Mudblood as they eyed her warily. A few minutes later she had found herself in front of a door with the Slytherin crest engraved into the wood. With a tentative hand, she tried the brass doorknob and it creaked open. The fireplace roared to life, flooding the room with light as she stepped in. It was large and despite its fancy furnishings it was clearly a boy's room, Blaise's she presumed— although— probably not anymore, not after tonight. A king bed, in the center, facing an open large fireplace. There was a desk with parchment and ink, a large wardrobe, expensive brooms, and tapestry hung on the wall. There was no clutter and everything was perfectly tidy, a little like Blaise always seemed to be.

The Manor certainly didn't look the same as it did the last time Hermione was here, but when she stepped into Blaise's room again for the second time, it had not changed, not one bit.

Hermione picked up the picture frame on the mantelpiece above the fireplace as she had done before. It was a photo of Blaise, Draco, and Theo; their arms around each other's shoulders, laughing and smiling, dressed in winter clothing and covered in snow.

Looking at the picture, she was thrown into a memory.

* * *

Someone cleared their throat and she turned abruptly with her wand drawn; the glass frame in pieces on the floor. Theodore Nott was leaning in the doorway, his black suit crumpled, wearing an indecipherable expression on his face as he eyed her defensive stance.

"My, my Granger," he murmured, taking a sip of champagne, "and you're not applying for the Auror program with your little friends? Pity…"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him and quipped, "I'm surprised you've detached yourself from Daphne's lips long enough to string a sentence together."

She could've sworn the corner of his lips lifted infinitesimally. "Watching me, were you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she spat, dropping her arm.

Slowly the glass pieces stitched seemingly together and the frame hovered for a moment before falling into his hand.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked.

"You learn many things as a Death Eater… Draco certainly did."

Hermione gulped. She had never dared ask what Draco had been made to do during the war. She only knew of the Death Eaters he had killed and that was enough for her to avoid asking questions.

Theo looked down at the photograph. "This was Christmas fifth year. We couldn't ski to save our lives and we..." he turned crimson at the admission, "we sort of just played in the snow like a couple of first years… Pansy took this."

"He never told me he went skiing," she said, a little surprised.

Theo gave an inelegant snort. "Probably because he wasn't good and he didn't like to admit when he was useless at something."

"Draco was very candid with me," she said holding her chin in the air. "He didn't care to impress me that way."

"Well, aren't you just special," he snarled. "And stupid."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Excuse me—?"

"I'm dying!" he suddenly cried clutching his arm. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

Hermione's eyes widened, trying to decide what awful joke he was playing.

"Oh, come on," he said suddenly smirking again. "Don't tell me you don't remember?... Third year? The hippogriff?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, trying to place the memory. "When Buckbeak hurt Draco?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor," he winked.

"That—no, that wasn't—"

"Haven't you ever wondered why he hated Potter so much?"

"Their adversary had nothing to do with me."

Theo scoffed. "He's been obsessed with you since he first saw you, Granger."

She laughed in disbelief. "You expect me to believe it was love at first sight?"

"He might not have always loved you," he shrugged casually, sliding his hands into his pockets, "but he did—as you put it—'care to impress you'... a lot actually... His father never cared whether he was on the Slytherin Quidditch team, but Draco insisted on it—and his face when you told him he bought his way on…. he hated you with a passion. I don't think there's ever been an in-between."

Hermione snatched the drink from his hand and gulped it down.

"Well, it doesn't matter now does it?" she rasped feeling the familiar burning in her throat and in her eyes. It came and went like this. One moment she'd be fine and the next she wasn't.

Theo seemed to sense the shift in the air. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine."

Though they both knew it wasn't.

She looked down into the glass, staring absently at the bubbles floating to the top of the champagne.

"Draco once told me that every part of me was perfect…"

The words caught her by surprise and by the way he was looking at her, she suspected they'd surprised him too.

"I don't think anyone will ever love me the way he did; so blindly. But the truth is, I'm completely imperfect... I'm a hypocrite and a liar… and I'm not brave, I'm weak.

"A hypocrite, definitely. A liar, probably— we all are— but I don't think _Hermione Granger_ has ever been weak."

She gave him a watery smile. "I was… a dozen times I found myself walking to Dumbledore's office and a dozen times I turned around because instead of listening to my gut I listened to him. I allowed him to make dangerous decisions that hurt people… that hurt him."

His brows furrowed. "Why?" he asked. "Why didn't you ever tell anyone Draco had the mark? I never understood..."

Hermione took the frame from his hand and handed him back the empty glass. "Love eclipsed me," she whispered, her finger tracing his mouth as Draco's lips lifted, over and over again, on loop, and grinned. "I didn't know it could do that, that it could make you feel so small, like you don't matter without them and at the same time, so large, so invincible, as if nothing can touch you. I was meant to guide him... protect him… but I failed at doing both those things."

Theo looked at his feet. "I wanted to blame you," he confessed. "It was easier than blaming myself, to think that perhaps if I had never hexed you and Luna that night, things might have turned out differently.

Hermione bit her lip. She had wanted to kill whoever had stopped her from going to find Draco the night of Dumbledore's death but when Theo had told her the truth after Draco's funeral, she had no strength for anger or hate. Her grief had consumed all of it.

"Yes," she whispered, wiping away a tear. "They might have… or we might have both been killed that very night. We'll never know…"

Hermione placed the photo back on the mantelpiece. "He looks so happy," she murmured. "I wish I could've been there that day."

Pursing his lips, he said, "Well you could... I could show you like I did before."

He dared to finally lift his head and saw her eyes were full of love and wonder as she whispered with gratitude, "I'd love to see him, Theodore."

* * *

Hermione was pulled from the memory by the thunderous sound of a door slamming shut. She startled, placing the frame back clumsily. It fell on its face and Pansy stepped forward and righted it with a roll of her eyes.

"I think I'm getting rather sick of finding uninvited guests in my home," she murmured under her breath.

"Sorry," she said awkwardly wringing her hands. "I was just looking around and… you have a beautiful home."

"You said that the last time you were here," she said with a quirk of her lips. "How did you find this room?"

"The night of your wedding," Hermione explained. "It got a little crowded. I needed a moment and I ended up here."

Pansy's lips split into a grin. "That was a wild night, wasn't it?"

Hermione's lips curled into a genuine smile. "I haven't seen Neville touch a single drink since. And that girl at the club afterward… he cringes every time I bring her up."

"It was definitely most revealing," she winked. "Too bad you never ended up bringing Potter. Who knows what the Boy-who-lived-twice would have done under the influence of alcohol."

"Or Ron," laughed Hermione absentmindedly. She cleared her throat, realizing her mistake too late and feigned a cough. Hermione could almost feel the air in the room go still at the mention of his name.

"Come," said Pansy casually. "Join me for some tea."

She followed Pansy without another word. Like a gracious host, she poured a cup for her and then for herself despite knowing the reason why Hermione was there and the unpleasant conversation they were about to have. She thought it would be best not to beat around the bush.

"I spoke to Ron. He's told me everything."

"I presumed this wasn't a social call," said Pansy with a tight smile. "Considering I've barely seen or heard from you since the wedding."

Hermione felt a pang of guilt. She hadn't realized Pansy would even care to hear or see her. "I'm sorry," she began. "Things have been difficult and what with work—"

"Yet you've had plenty of time to see my dear friend Theodore."

She made it a point not to lick her lips. Not to avoid her piercing stare.

"Pansy, I just wanted to tell you. Ron has been through a lot, not just with Fred, but he's been hurt—"

"By you," she supplied coolly.

"Yes," she admitted without hesitation. "What I did… the secrets I kept to protect Draco hurt him immensely and—"

"And those who live in glass houses should not throw stones."

Hermione frowned. "I think this is a little different."

"How?" she challenged.

"You are keeping Ron a secret to protect yourself and I kept Draco a secret to protect him."

"That's not who I was referring to."

Hermione watched as Pansy picked up her teacup and took a delicate sip with her little finger poised in the air.

"Then I don't know what you mean."

"How ironic that I share so much in common with the famous Hermione Granger, _war_ _heroine,_ and _golden girl_."

She gulped wondering just how much Theo had told her, or perhaps Ron, now that Pansy and he were intimate. "Did… did someone say something—"

"Theo doesn't need to tell me anything. His head is filled with you and I don't need Legilimency to see it."

Hermione scoffed and tried to laugh it off with an air of nonchalance. "Nott has enough women on his plate without needing to add me to his list."

The pleasant smile which had been on her face all but vanished and Hermione was instantly transported to Slughorn's Christmas party when Pansy's cool façade had waned, revealing cold hard eyes.

"I know Theo," she began. "I've known him since we learned how to walk, I know him inside and out. He and Draco were inseparable. He spent more Christmas' and summers with Narcissa and Lucius than he ever did with his own father. I think he sees you—this beautiful, sad, lonely girl—this girl who his friend loved and feels obliged to help her. He sees you fading in front of him and sees his mother; wants to save you the way he couldn't save her... the way he couldn't save Draco."

"Pansy—"

"Theo could never understand why Draco risked everything for you, but I imagine he understands now, doesn't he Hermione? See you didn't come here to pass judgment on me. You came here so I could pass judgment on you—"

"Please," she begged. "I don't… I don't want to talk about this."

"Where was he, Hermione?

She was blinking furiously, her heart beating rapidly like a cornered animal.

"What do you mean?"

Pansy leaned forward, her voice barely audible. "Where was Theo the night Corban Yaxley was killed? Was he with you?"

"What are you saying?" she demanded, squinting her eyes. "He would never—"

"So, then it was Draco. He's alive."

"No," she whispered, looking down into her teacup. "Draco is dead."

Pansy took a gentle hold of Hermione's chin and raised her face up to look at her; a motherly gesture that tugged at Hermione's heartstrings.

"How can you be sure?" she asked her.

Hermione licked her lips. "Because," her voice cracked, "Draco would never have made me suffer this way— nor you, or his mother, or Blaise… or Theo. He made me a promise to come back to me and I gave up on all hope the day I realized that nothing except mortality would've kept him from keeping it."

Pansy's face was filled with pity.

"I'm sorry Hermione… I'm sorry for keeping him from you out of petty jealousy. Perhaps if I hadn't you would've had more time together."

The apology startled Hermione. For a moment she was speechless. It had never occurred to her to consider Pansy's feelings in what had happened between them but now she felt indebted to defend what they had done.

"I should tell you," she started. "That what happened…it was only after New Years, after you'd broken up that we got together—he never—we never—"

"I know he never actually cheated on me," she smiled. "He was loyal like that, even for someone who was pretty much an arsehole the other eighty percent of the time."

Hermione let out an involuntary chuckle but Pansy sobered quickly.

"So, I ask again," she said softly. "Do you know where Theo was the night Corban Yaxley was killed?"

Her hands balled into fists. "I don't like what you're insinuating, Pansy. Besides, I don't even know _when_ he was killed and I don't care to find out. He was a vile, awful wizard and I'm glad he's dead. We're all safer for it."

Pansy brought a perfectly manicured finger to her lip.

"Be careful, Hermione. Don't let anyone else hear you say that, otherwise when the Ministry reaches—pardon the pun—a dead end, they're going to start looking elsewhere."

She tried to read the warning behind Pansy's words. "You really think they'd suspect me? Suspect Theo?"

"He killed Lucius Malfoy and Fred Weasley. I told you how close Theo was to Draco's family… and we both know how close you are to Ron's. That gives you both a motive and if Theo is found guilty of loving you…"

Hermione gulped trying to dislodge that word from her throat. _Guilty_.

"And if you are found guilty of loving him, then they may think you conspired to do it together."

Her body began to tremble and the teacup was rattling against the saucer. Looking beseechingly at the woman before her, she whispered, "Please don't tell anyone."

Pansy straightened, her spine stiff and folded her hands in her lap elegantly.

"I won't… and I hope you will repay the favor by keeping my secret as well."

Reluctantly, Hermione agreed.

Parkinson had won.


	56. Now You See Me, Now You Don't: Part I

_Four years later, May 2001..._

* * *

Harry had just arrived back home at Grimmauld place after an exhausting day at the Ministry. He was removing his robes when he heard laughter coming from the dining room.

"What do you mean she's gone?" he heard Ginny balk.

"I mean she—oh, hi Harry," smiled Hermione, who was seated at the table.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Luna's run off to America!"

Hermione threw her hands in the air with defeat. "Apparently something about baby Twintil's hatching in Colorado!"

"You must be joking!" chuckled Harry. "What's a Twintil?"

"I don't know and I don't want to know. I can't believe she'd just take off two nights before her wedding! She better be back on time for the ceremony this weekend."

Ginny shook her head in disbelief. "Don't get me wrong, I love Luna but she is absolutely bonkers sometimes."

"I think we might have a bigger problem," said Harry, pulling the chair out. A plate of food magically appeared before him. "It's about the case," he said, looking at Hermione. "Tomorrow morning you'll receive a request to report to the Ministry for questioning."

Hermione's grip on her utensils tightened. "No," she said. "Absolutely not. I refuse."

"It's not me who's asking, it's the Ministry and when I say request… it's actually more of a polite order—besides if you don't go, it's going to look suspicious."

"Suspicious!" spat Ginny angrily. "Suspicious of what? They can't possibly think Hermione had something to do with all this!"

Harry looked down into his plate and toyed with his food.

"Harry James Potter," his fiancé scolded, folding her arms. "You tell us what's going on right this minute."

"But I—"

"I don't care if you're not actually allowed to 'talk about ongoing investigations', Hermione deserves to know!"

He began wriggling in his seat.

"We haven't been able to find any evidence to link Malfoy to the murder except for the mark. It's not enough to go on—"

Hermione's lips pulled taut across her face in an unnatural smile. "Funny," she tittered. "I recall hearing that somewhere before—oh right, that was me."

"Well, I still think it could be him," Harry blurted.

Hermione sighed in exasperation, dropping her fork onto the plate with a harsh clang.

"Not that it matters," he added quickly. "Ron and I are no longer in charge of the investigation. Things have escalated since we last spoke. The UNSC have got word of this and they've sent some people in."

"UNSC?" asked Ginny cocking an eyebrow.

"Muggles," supplied Hermione. "The UNSC is the United Nations Security Council. Why would Muggles be involved in this?"

"They don't trust the wizarding world to handle our own affairs anymore and Kingsley can't afford to have bad blood with the Muggle governments right now. Not after how quickly the Ministry fell to Voldemort."

"Well, what do they want with Hermione?" demanded Ginny, slapping her hand against the table. "You three saved the wizarding world! She's a bonafide heroine—and this is how Kingsley thanks her!"

Hermione cringed at Ginny's use of the word heroine.

"It's not as if I know who did it," she muttered.

"Clearly they think you do," argued Harry. Looking at Hermione pointedly, he said, "And frankly if they're calling you in, they must have evidence of some kind."

Hermione paled. "Evidence?" she rasped. "What evidence!"

"I don't know," said Harry. "Look, I've spoken to Kingsley. I can be present for the interview. I'll be right there with you—"

Hermione pursed her lips, her face crimson with fury. The chair made the most awful scraping noise as she jerked it back and stood abruptly. She grabbed her cardigan and handbag in a fluster, muttering something Harry couldn't quite catch under her breath.

"Sweetie, wait," pleaded Ginny.

As soon as the door banged closed, she spun around. "Harry do something!"

"I'm an Auror. I have a job—!"

"Bugger your job!" she yelled back. "You have a duty to your friend—"

 _Right,_ thought Harry, _it's my turn to storm off_.

"Nice try," Ginny teased, "but you live here!"

Harry continued to trudge up the stairs and she followed him till they were both in their bedroom. Closing the door behind them she began softly, "I know you're in a difficult position but I'm worried for her. Do you think she might actually be involved somehow?"

He let out a heavy sigh and sank down onto the bed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I was convinced Malfoy was responsible, I felt it in my gut, like I just knew, but maybe Hermione's right…"

"Okay," huffed Ginny pacing the room. "Let's play Devil's Advocate. Let's assume Draco Malfoy is alive and he killed Corban Yaxley—"

"But how?" interrupted Harry angrily. This had been one of the many questions to which the answer always eluded him. "Greyback's testimony holds. He admitted to having hit him with a severing charm and then kicked him off the edge of a cliff and into the Atlantic Ocean. He was under veritaserum and he had no reason to lie."

"What if he wasn't lying?" challenged Ginny. "What if Greyback did do those things, but what if Malfoy survived?"

"He was bleeding out. He had no wand. And Hermione herself corroborated that he didn't know how to swim well. The fall alone—"

"Harry, you've escaped death several times. You've survived the killing curse _twice_. Besides, they never found his body. The Ministry couldn't find him, his mother couldn't find him, Hermione couldn't find him, but maybe he's been living off the map, in some isolated cabin—"

"What did you just say?"

"He's hiding in a small cabin in the middle of—"

"No, before that!" said Harry dashing out of the room before Ginny could get another word out. He ran back in just as quickly with a piece of folded parchment in his hand.

"Malfoy was off the map! He didn't show up on the Marauders map—!"

"Harry, slow down!"

"I'd forgotten till now!" he said excitedly, shaking the map in her face. "I can't believe I'd forgotten! I was trying to look for Malfoy on the Marauders Map during sixth year but I could never find him!"

Ginny took him roughly by his shoulders and pushed him down to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Rewind," she said calmly. "I thought you could never find him because he was always going into the Room of Requirement."

Harry shook his head quickly, doing his best not to jolt back up.

"At one point, he didn't show up on the map at all. That's never happened before. Even Peter Pettigrew appeared on the map when he was in his animagus form. I always assumed he had done something to the map but what if he didn't? What if he'd cloaked himself somehow? What if that's the reason no one can find him —why Hermione's tracking spell never worked?"

Ginny looked unconvinced. "Is that even possible? It sounds like complicated magic."

But Harry couldn't stop. He felt like he'd finally found an important piece of the puzzle and that maybe, by having this one piece, the rest would fall into place like dominos.

"At the age of sixteen, Malfoy had learned the imperius curse, he'd used it on Madam Rosmerta, he was a skilled Occlumens and he was clever enough to figure out how to bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts!"

" _Still_ ," she shrugged. "To go through all that trouble, just to hide from you on the map?"

"No!" he all but yelled. "It never had anything to do with hiding from me or the map—or at least, not just the map. He had planned to go into hiding, to disappear. Everyone knows what happened to Karkaroff when he was eventually found. Malfoy must have cloaked himself—somehow!"

Ginny's eyes grew wide. "And that's the reason Hermione's tracking spell ended at the cliff."

Harry slid off the bed and onto his knees, crouching to reach for something under the bed.

"What are you—? That's where you've been hiding your case files!" she yelled as he stood back up.

He adjusted his glasses nervously. "Well you-you never clean under there."

With a roll of her eyes, she put out her hand. "Let me look."

He blinked at her and adjusted his glasses again. "Technically these are classified."

Ginny sighed, giving him a sad smile. "Harry… in fifth year when you tried telling everyone that Voldemort was back, no one believed you, in sixth year when you tried telling everyone that Malfoy was a Death Eater, no one believed you. But if you're telling me, that against all odds, against all logic, that Draco Malfoy is alive and he was responsible for the murder of Corban Yaxley, I'll not only believe you, I'll help you prove it."

Harry wore an incredulous expression on his face, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "That's true," he said slowly. "This is like my bloody childhood all over again," he yelled throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. "Well, I'll show those bastards!"

Ginny frowned. "Language, Harry!"

"Honestly, Gin," he said with adoration in his voice, "How did I ever get to be so lucky to—"

"Yeah okay, now give me the file," she said, snatching it from his hand.

"Hey," he pouted. "You tricked me."

"It's for your own good."

Harry watched as Ginny rifled through the files impatiently and thought about taking them back from her. But he knew he'd already told her too much and decided that there was no going back now. Besides, she was the only person who was willing to listen to him at this point. Kingsley had said that it had been his mistake, he'd been the one to jump the gun by assuming Malfoy was back and while Ron had done what he could, he'd come back from New York empty-handed. Everyone was now saying it was a copy-cat or someone else with a vendetta against Yaxley.

He began getting ready for bed instead, turning things over in his mind as he ran the taps for a shower.

"The first murders," Ginny shouted to him over the running water, "they weren't marked?"

"No," he called out.

Some time later, Harry emerged from the bathroom. Ginny was on the floor, parchment splayed across the floor and she didn't even glance up as he came to sit next to her. His eyes gravitated unintentionally to a particularly gruesome crime scene photo. He picked it up, unable to look away.

Ginny sighed, noticing which picture he'd been staring at.

"I know Malfoy was always a bit of a bully but I can't believe the person who did this was the same spoiled daddy's boy we grew up with in Hogwarts… I can't imagine what drove him to this."

 _I can_ , thought Harry sadly. Because he knew what it felt like once Voldemort had fixated on you and in a way he considered it worse for Draco. To have to pretend to venerate him, to bend to his will, to do things, despicable things and to be told if he didn't do them, his parents would pay the price... Eventually one of them did.

He turned and stared at the woman who would soon be his wife. He thought of how fiercely they'd grown to love each other and wondered how he would react if he was made to torture her.

Harry gulped. "I don't want there to be any secrets between us, Gin."

Concern flashed across her face.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to finally tell Ginny a secret he had sworn to Hermione he would never reveal.

"Bellatrix never tortured Hermione," he explained softly. "She made Draco do it. Said he needed to learn. To practice."

" _What_?"

"Voldemort—" he spat the name out like it was a curse. "Had been impressed by Draco's achievements and equally unimpressed when he was told he tried to stop Snape from casting the killing curse on Dumbledore. Apparently, he'd ordered Bellatrix to train him and report his progress."

Ginny's face fell. "Oh Merlin, no…"

"Ron and I, we were in the cellar but we could hear everything… Hermione forbade any of us from speaking about it, even Dobby."

"So the scar on Hermione's arm?" she asked, a slight tremble in her voice.

Harry nodded mutely.

"How could he?" she said, angry tears forming in her eyes.

"He didn't have a choice Gin… not really… I think Hermione understood that. When he refused Bellatrix accused him of being a Mudblood Lover and suggested Greyback do it… I think… I think him doing it, in a way, was a mercy…"

There were red hot, angry tears running down her face.

"It makes sense now," murmured Ginny. "What he did to them; his reasons..." She noticed the tightening of Harry's face and knew he was about to pounce on her for suggesting that what Malfoy had done was reasonable. "—and I don't mean that what he did was right," she defended, "only that, the marks, they make sense now, or at least more sense. In his mind—after everything he went through—after what Bellatrix made him do to her. This, to him, it wasn't revenge... it was justice, balancing the scales."

One by one, Harry gathered the crime scene photos off the floor, his eyes dancing over them. He remembered the desperation with which Draco had wanted to protect his mother and father, to protect Hermione; remembered the apparent fear and regret on his face at the Manor when they were brought there and the dead expression in his eyes before they'd escaped.

"No," whispered Harry looking at the bloody letters on Dolohov's forearm.

 _ **M L**_

"This was his way of showing love. It was redemption."

"Murder isn't love," Ginny choked.

"In all fairness to Malfoy, after spending months living under the same roof as Voldemort, maybe it is..."

They were both quiet. Voicing the truth about what had happened at the Manor had left a cold draft in the room, a heavy sorrow that was getting worse by reliving the aftermath of that night, of delving into Draco's fractured mind and trying to understand.

"These initial deaths were opportunistic… impulsive… sloppy," said Ginny finally breaking the silence, "but whoever killed Corban Yaxley was patient… calculating. This was planned perfectly. A statis charm was cast on the body, which means you don't have an exact time of death. No evidence. No witnesses. No nothing. If it weren't for the mark, there'd be nothing to tie him to the murder."

"Yeah, and Ron got back from New York this morning. He doesn't even think Yaxley was killed in the building where his body was found. There were no signs of a duel or a struggle. He thinks the body was brought there afterward and left there to be found…"

Ginny's eyes were focused, staring hard at a point over Harry's shoulder. "Draco never bothered to cover up the murders before. He wanted them to be found. He wanted Voldemort to know."

"He wanted Hermione to know," he said pointedly.

"So, why?" she mused softly, "I'm Draco Malfoy. I kill Corban Yaxley and then mark him, so everyone thinks I've done it, but then I also go through the trouble of moving the body, of covering my tracks to make it look like someone else did it... Why? To distract the MLE? To give myself time to disappear again?"

Harry's brow furrowed. It didn't sound right. If Malfoy had wanted to stay invisible, he could've killed Corban Yaxley quietly and disposed of the body where it couldn't be found. But he had brought it to a specific place and left it for Muggles to find, for the MACUSA to find, he knew he'd get a headline in the Daily Prophet, he knew it'd become an international scandal and that Kingsley would be put under pressure to make an arrest.

"Who else are they calling in for questioning?" asked Ginny, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to recall who else had been on the list. "His mother obviously… Snape, the Zabini's and Nott."

"Was there a reason you never suspected Mrs. Malfoy? After all, your vic did kill her husband."

"Your _vic_?"

Ginny winked. "Didn't think I knew the lingo, did you?"

"Right," he laughed. "Well, we did consider it but Severus can vouch for her the night of the murder. In fact, a few dozen people can. It was on a Saturday night and they'd both gone for dinner. So unless Snape is covering for her _AND_ she forced someone to take polyjuice and pose as her at the restaurant, it couldn't have been her…"

"Flimsy alibi though, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose… with the stasis charm on the body, we were able to narrow it down to a two-hour window. But it would've still been quite difficult for her to do that."

Stretching her arms up over her head she let out a loud yawn.

"Enough detecting," he smiled, putting everything away. "I want to spend the rest of the night holding my wife."

"I'm not your wife _yet_ ," she teased, giving him a light kiss on the corner of his lips.

Harry grinned, his fingers tracing the freckles on her face as he pulled her closer and kissed her. "Wife," he murmured against her lips. "You're going to be my wife."

Ginny smiled, unlatching herself from him and disappeared into the bathroom. In the time she took to change into her pajamas, Harry had fallen half asleep.

"You know what's strange," he heard Ginny whisper into the dark. "Corban Yaxley killed Fred but no one is questioning us."

"The mark," Harry murmured. "It ties the murder to someone Draco was close to."

"Oh, right..."

While Harry was touching the seams of a dream, another piece fell into place and he was one step closer to the full truth.

* * *

A/N: Hi fellow readers. So I just wanted to clarify that the time jumps are now over and we're in May 2001 for the rest of the story. Also, the comments are becoming really heated. Please don't hate on any of my characters. Even the best of us can be fallible and I am completely against slut-shaming. I know these last chapters have been very intense and shocking. If you're confused, that's good, because I meant to do that. It will all make sense very soon (hopefully lol). We're nearly there! I'm going to try and have this fic complete before December since it's Christmas :D I wanted to say thank you to my beta tiffywa for holding my hand through my first angry reviews.


	57. Now You See Me, Now You Don't: Part II

Hermione looked at the pile of clothes strewn across her bed. What did one wear to an interrogation? It occurred to her to wear white. White was plain and neutral. It would make her look innocent; completely and utterly innocent. But she tossed the white blouse to a corner, knowing that they'd accuse her of trying to look virginal. Then she considered wearing black because it was somber and serious but it was also the color of mourning which felt wrong for the occasion. After that, she thought about pinks and purples, browns and beige, yet nothing seemed right.

Sighing in exasperation, Hermione checked the time. If she didn't choose something soon she'd be late and armed Aurors would be knocking down her door. There was nothing she could do to avoid it, but there was a slow-creeping dread as the seconds ticked on. The truth was that she was afraid; terrified of the questions they would ask and the things she might be forced to speak of.

Looking around her room, she realized that all she'd managed to do in the last half hour was to empty out her wardrobe and make a mess of everything. Cursing the Ministry, she began putting her clothes back. She paused. There, hanging in the corner was her old school uniform. The Gryffindor colors seemed to mock her.

 _Where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart._

Where was her courage now?

She toyed with the hem of the grey school skirt recalling how Draco's fingers would slide beneath them. The way his eyes would roam over her when she was clad in nothing but red knickers.

If he were still alive, he wouldn't recognize the person she'd become now. The witch he'd fallen in love with was the one who'd had the nerve to slap him, who'd dare to speak Voldemort's name out loud when everyone else was too afraid. Who was she now? Because she certainly didn't feel like Hermione Granger, brightest-witch-of-her-age, heroine and golden girl. She was irrevocably changed and there was no going back. So, who? Who was she? Beneath it all, who was she?

And she knew…

She knew what people really thought of her. To the Pureblood elite, she was the Mudblood who had seduced and brainwashed Lucius Malfoy's son. To others, she was the girl who had bedded one of the most notorious Death Eaters in wizarding history and made him a turncoat. Her jaw clenched with determination. Maybe it was time to remind the Ministry that they weren't dealing with an ordinary girl. Maybe it was time to remind herself.

Hermione stripped down. She'd finally decided what to wear.

* * *

Stepping out of the dancing green flames of the fireplace, Hermione glanced around. The Ministry was fairly quiet on a late Friday night. Probably why they'd chosen now to hold the interview. The fewer people in the building, the better. The stragglers that were still around stopped and stared.

Good.

She walked with her chin raised high, eyeing the fountain in the middle. No matter how many times she'd come to the Ministry, her mind always pulled her back to the first night she'd come here when she'd been hit by Dolohov's curse. A shiver ran down her spine, telling her she needed to run.

Harry was waiting for her, his mouth agape.

"Hermione," he whispered urgently. "What are you—have you looked in a mirror?"

"Of course, I have," she tutted. "Don't be silly. I've worn dresses before."

"I know, but," and he blushed, averting his eyes. "It's just that—well, it's a little tight and… it's very white."

"And?" she pressed innocently.

He adjusted his glasses, smiling awkwardly at the few employees who passed them by, shooting Hermione furtive glances, some boldly staring. Harry moved himself to block people's view of her.

"Well, it's a little see-through and the color of your… of your..."

"Of my what? Spit it out, Harry."

"Your knickers," he cringed. "And your other underthingy—"

"My bra?"

He adjusted his glasses again. "Well, you can kind of see that they're… well, they're lace," he said looking right at her breasts. "And bright red..." Harry cleared his throat, turning his head away when he realized he was staring at her.

"I don't care," she shrugged.

"But Hermione—"

"We're late as it is," she said pushing past him. "Let's go."

They went through security and she was forced to turn in her wand. He continued to shift awkwardly next to her as they stood in the lift, a blush creeping up his neck. She bit back a smile. She'd never seen Harry so worked up and embarrassed before. But she supposed he'd never seen her like this. She was always just Hermione, big knit jumpers and jeans.

"Look," he said, clearing his throat for the third time. "Two agents from UNSC are here. Answer their questions as best as you can and you'll be out of here in no time."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, whatever, I shouldn't even be here."

"You have a connection to this case—"

"It's because I used to fuck a Death Eater," she translated.

His jaw fell open again for the second time that day. He snapped it shut. "Don't be as crass when you're speaking to them. They mean business."

The lift opened and they stepped out. She followed Harry, her ire mounting as she drew closer to the room he was leading her to.

Harry opened the door and allowed her to enter first. There were two people seated at the table—no, not people—suits. She cringed.

"Miss Granger," said the woman as she stood. "I'm Special Agent Davies and this is Special Agent Finn. Thank you for agreeing to this interview."

She almost retorted that she hadn't agreed to a single bloody thing when Harry shot her a look of warning.

"Let's begin, shall we?" said Agent Finn.

 _Brilliant_ , she thought. _He's American._

She unfolded and folded her legs, trying to get comfortable on the steel chair. They both looked to be a decade her senior, both perfectly coiffed from head to toe—and Harry was right, they looked like they meant business. Except, she wondered who was going to play the role of good-cop and who was going to play bad-cop.

Taking a deep breath, Davies drummed her manicured fingernails against the steel table. "Where were you between the hours of ten and eleven pm on May 12th Miss Granger?"

"I don't—" Hermione faltered. "Was that a Friday?"

"Saturday," supplied Harry.

"Right. I was at home."

"Alone?" interjected Agent Finn.

Hermione's eyes cut to him. His eyes bore into hers, scrutinizing.

"Yes, alone."

"Doing what?"

"In bed," she replied. "Sleeping."

" _Alone_?"

Her jaw clenched. "Yes, I've already said I was alone. I got home, took a shower and dressed for bed. I tried to read a little but I was tired. I fell asleep."

Agent Finn held her stare as if trying to figure out whether or not she was lying.

"Can anyone corroborate that Miss Granger?" asked Davies.

"No," she snapped in frustration. "Because as I've already said twice now, I was alone."

The woman cocked an eyebrow at her. "You didn't phone anyone or—"

"No. I rarely use my telephone."

"What were you reading?" she asked drumming her fingers against the table again.

Hermione averted her eyes. She hated this. Hated this prodding into her personal life, hated having to answer questions she didn't want to answer. "Crime and punishment," she murmured reluctantly.

Agent Davies gave a low quiet hum and shared a look with her partner. "Interesting…"

Hermione knew how it sounded.

"And where were you before you were at home?"

"I don't remember," she answered honestly. "I..." She couldn't even remember what she'd eaten yesterday for breakfast, let alone what she'd done weeks ago.

"Weren't you with Krum at Hogsmeade?" said Harry quietly.

Hermione clucked her tongue. "Of course," she said, chiding herself. "My friend was visiting that weekend. I was with him for lunch and—"

"Krum?" asked Davies.

Agent Finn was twirling a pen between his fingers. "Another boyfriend?" he supplied. Davies scoffed and shared another sly smile with her partner.

Hermione's hands clenched into fists in her lap. "No," she corrected. _What did they mean another?_ "He's an old friend."

Davies folded her arms. "Let's talk a little about your previous relationship," she said, assuming control of the interrogation.

"My previous relationship?" she repeated pointlessly.

"The deceased in question," she clarified.

Hermione blinked. Draco had been called a number of things in the last few years—Death Eater, turncoat, Mudblood lover, blood traitor, vigilante, there were a few who'd even gone to the extent of calling him a romantic, but this was new.

 _The deceased in question._

"Were you ever aware of what Draco Malfoy was doing?"

And there it was...

The rumors… hearsay. In the garden of Eden, it's the serpent that entices Eve to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. In Rita Skeeter's version of what happened, in the book she'd written, Hermione was the snake. Unfortunately, people are quick to believe whatever they read and Theodore Nott could do nothing about the books which had already been sold. The rest he'd burned and invited her to watch.

"Miss Granger?"

"No," she said. "I didn't know."

 _And I didn't tell Draco to kill them._

Harry cleared his throat to get their attention. "Death Eaters were disappearing but it was widely assumed that they were defecting."

"We were on the run ourselves," added Hermione softly.

"Oh, yes," scoffed Davies. "You were busy breaking into a high-security bank and waging a war."

Hermione frowned. "We were trying to survive," she snarled.

"Miss Granger," said the woman with a heavy sigh, "we see the," and at this, she made air quotes with her fingers, "Muggle-born question as a wizarding issue, not ours. The thing is, no matter what some may think, these er… er—"

"Purebloods," supplied Finn, the 'r' rolling off his tongue. "Fanatics, ma'am."

"That's right—Purebloods—no matter what they think or say, _you_ are not one of us."

Her fists clenched wanting very much to leave this room. "I was born in London. My parents are—"

"Inconsequential," she cut with a tight smile. "Let me be blunt, Miss Granger. Your heritage means nothing. When it comes down to it, you're one of them. You are not a citizen of Britain. Perhaps on paper, but not really. What you are—what you all are," she said looking pointedly at Harry, "is a high-security risk, and our job is to ensure that we keep the _wizarding world_ apart from _our_ world, to keep from letting _wizarding issues_ becoming _our issue_."

Hermione ground her teeth.

"Now, when was the last time you saw Draco Malfoy?"

"Malfoy Manor."

Davies began scribbling something down in her notepad. "I thought he was at Hogwarts when Voldemort fell?" she said without looking up.

"You asked when I last saw him, not where he was last seen."

She heard Harry exhale loudly behind her. His frustration with her was evident. This entire investigation was putting a strain on him and on their friendship.

"Please cooperate, Miss Granger," said Agent Finn. "Otherwise, we'll be forced to do something unpleasant."

"Like what?" she spat.

"Strip you of your British citizenship, for example," Davies offered coolly.

Hermione glared at them, her eyes darting from one suit to the other.

"So," she continued brightly. "Are you acquainted with a creature named Niz?"

"It's Nix."

She gave Hermione another tight smile. "And how do you know _Nix?"_

"He was Draco's house-elf."

Agent Finn took a manila file that had been lying on the table and handed it over to Davies. She took it and leaned back languidly in her chair as if this interrogation was a great inconvenience.

"In an interview conducted by the M.L.E, the elf confirmed that—and I quote—Master Lucius called Nix to the dining room. When Nix went, all master's guests were asleep in the pumpkin soup. Master asked Nix to take Master's dinner guests deep into the woods and leave them there. Nix did as he was told… that's all. End quote.

" _That's all_ ," she repeated with a low chuckle.

Hermione folded her arms. "He isn't responsible. Elves can't help but follow orders—"

The detective sucked her cheek making her look older than she was. "By our laws, he's an accessory to murder, after the fact."

Hermione pursed her lips.

"First two victims were poisoned," she added softly to herself.

"Snake venom," supplied Finn.

She gave an indelicate snort " _Rightttt_ ," she drawled. "Snake venom… In another interview conducted by the M.L.E, Mrs. Malfoy, née Narcissa Black confirmed that Voldemort, née Tom Mar-volo Riddle—Christ, the names you people have—was inhabiting the household and was frequented by Death Eaters… yada-yada-yada—ah, here it is—pumpkin soup was served at around 20:05. Antonin Dolohov and Thorfinn Rowle began to foam at the mouth and died. She confirms that her son did not seem surprised and continued to eat and complimented the elves cooking—"

"He was under severe stress—"

"Miss Granger, you're a nurse, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Hermione releasing a sigh. "Going to threaten to take that away from me, too?"

"Hardly," she scoffed as if she hadn't just threatened Hermione a minute ago. "Study any psychology?"

She gulped, dreading the direction the conversation was taking. "Only one or two classes," she answered.

"Do you recognize the first signs of psychosis?"

"I can't recall," she clipped.

Agent Davies leaned forward as she rested her elbows on the table. A slip of a smile tugging at her lips as if she knew something Hermione didn't.

"Solitary behavior, highly introverted, erratic mood swings, paranoia—"

Hermione's cheeks reddened with anger. "I don't care what your file says," she spat. "I will not sit here and listen to you degrade him! Take away my passport, my citizenship, I don't care—!"

"You've suffered a great loss, Miss Granger." Her voice fell, becoming soft, consoling, almost understanding. "I lost my mother recently. Breast cancer... It's hard to lose a loved one, isn't it?"

"I didn't lose him," she choked, the anger practically suffocating her. "He was taken away from me."

"And you wanted retribution."

"Yes," she admitted softly. There was no point in denying that.

"But you're not the kind of girl to go around murdering people, are you?" she said with a tilt of her head.

She shook her head firmly. "Look, I told you, I haven't seen Draco since 1998. You can corroborate everything else with the M.L.E.—"

"You're beautiful…"

The statement startled her. Her cheeks reddened. What was she supposed to say to that? Deny it? Thank her for the compliment?

"I, er… I don't know."

"No, you are," said Davies with conviction. "You're stunning… the kind of stunning that blinds a man, makes him lose his mind. The kind of girl that says to kill Corban Yaxley, and they go out of their way to do it for you…"

Hermione sucked in a deep breath. There was no good cop, bad cop. Agent Davies was clearly in charge here and she'd just managed to make herself transparently clear.

"There's nothing to indicate that Draco Malfoy is alive and yet Corban Yaxley is dead. Someone is responsible, and if it's not you, it's because of you."

"Go to hell."

Davies eyes narrowed on her. "You like dangerous men, don't you, Miss Granger—?"

" _Excuse me_?" she scowled.

"The rush, the unpredictability—"

"No!"

"I bet Draco Malfoy was a rollercoaster ride for you—"

"That's enough!" burst Harry, who Hermione had forgotten was there.

Davies shot him a warning. "Another word and you'll be interfering in an official—"

"No, she's done. She answered all the questions she's going to answer. Hermione, come on, let's go—"

"I'm warning you—"

"Agent Davies," said Harry abruptly, "I was hunted by one of the most powerful and deranged wizards in history. What makes you think I'd be intimidated by you?"

To give credit where credit's due, Davies didn't so much as blink. She stood slowly from her seat. Her hand settled on the gun holstered to her hip and she smiled. It reminded Hermione so much of Umbridge that it was frightening. "For starters, Mr. Potter, you are not dealing with wizards anymore," then her smile faded into an ugly grimace, "and I am not a man."

A few heartbeats passed as Hermione watched with trepidation, wondering if it would take longer for Harry to draw his wand, than for her to draw her gun.

Her hand fell to her side.

"Agent Finn," she ordered whilst continuing to stare at Harry. "Escort Miss Granger downstairs. I need a moment to speak to Auror Potter."

Finn stood, grabbing her arm.

"I can walk myself out," she hissed, wrenching it free and storming off. She heard soft footsteps behind her as he followed her out, down the hallway, and to the lifts. The doors pinged open as soon as she pressed the button calling for it. Stepping into the lift, she tried to close it quickly. The sooner she could be out of this Godforsaken building and with these people, the better. Her irritation mounted when Finn stepped in too, his foot catching the doors just in time as they were closing. Hermione pressed herself against the opposite wall of the lift, the full weight of Finn's eyes on her. Perhaps she'd made a mistake to think that dressing like this would make a statement, would make her feel brave again. Maybe it just made her vulnerable. Her cheeks flamed… she should have come wearing a gunny sack… and possibly snuck in her wand in said-gunny sack.

"What the hell are you staring at?" she hissed, her eyes hot and angry, finally daring to look back at him.

And there was an eerily familiar expression on his face. An almost meditative and equally invasive quality to the way he was watching her. His eyes fell down to her legs and up her form in slow perusal till they met hers again.

Hermione pressed her back against the wall of the lift. There was something unsettling beginning to coil tight in her abdomen.

A perfectly arrogant eyebrow arched up. "Nothing ma'am…"

The lift doors dinged opened and she had to physically stop herself from running away from his penetrating stare.

She waited for Harry in the lobby. Only because she needed his authorization to retrieve her wand and leave.

As soon as he'd gotten her clearance for the return of her wand, Hermione muttered, "That didn't go well, did it?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "That went badly. Honestly, Hermione, Saturday night and you were in bed."

"Well, I was!" she retorted back. "It's the truth."

"A lie would've sounded more convincing—and you shouldn't have dressed like this for the interview—"

"I was trying to make a point!"

"What point would that be exactly?"

Hermione shrugged. How could she possibly explain what she'd been feeling to Harry?

He cursed. "I knew they had an angle bringing you in," he muttered, cursing again.

"So, what?" she said. "Harry, it's not like I actually did anything wrong. You… you know that, right?"

Harry took her by the arm and pushed her back behind one of the large statues so they were both out of sight. "Of course, I know you didn't do this but it's bad that they think you orchestrated it."

"It's not bad, it's _ridiculous_ ," she whispered. "They're making me out to be some kind of siren for God's sake."

"Well—"

Harry stopped speaking, his eyes following something over her shoulder. She turned to look. Not something. Someone. Theo had just walked into the lobby with someone she didn't recognize. That's when it dawned on her that she wasn't the only person who had been summoned. And the other person was probably another Auror escorting him in.

"Look," she said quickly. "I just want to go home."

He nodded. "Alright, let me take you."

"Thanks but I'm a big girl, Harry. I'll take myself home. Just… I'll see you at the wedding, alright?"

His eyes danced over her face, trying to decide what to do.

"Yeah, alright," he said finally. "I'll see you soon."

Hermione hugged him and thanked him for being there for her. He assured her he'd always be there. "You and Ron are like family. Of course, I'd be there for you when you're being accused of murder."

She hit him playfully on the arm. "You're awful," she smiled.

He shrugged and began heading back upstairs. Hermione, on the other hand, was in no way spending tonight at home. Slowly, she made her way to a fireplace and then to Nott Manor.

* * *

She waited for him in his bedroom, pacing up and down, unable to sit still for one moment, only able to churn over what Theo was saying at this very moment, of the secrets he might be confessing to. She had never told anyone of his Dark Mark. Only a handful of people knew and most of them were dead.

Hermione needed to make sure he hadn't divulged anything to the Ministry or to the UNSC. It might implicate her further.

After fifty excruciating minutes, Hermione heard soft footfalls.

"What the hell are you doing here?" said Theo, dropping his raised wand as he realized it was her.

She didn't answer him. "The Ministry called you in as well?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Is everything alright?"

"They wanted to know more about Draco," he told her. "That's all."

She was relieved to hear it hadn't been anything else.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

It blurted out of her before she had even thought it through.

His head snapped up and his eyes surveyed her dress, her red knickers showing through.

"To sleep," she corrected quickly. "I just… they called me in too, and I don't want to be alone right now."

He rubbed his face, looking utterly haggard. "It wouldn't be appropriate," he muttered.

"Please, Theo," she begged, wringing her hands. " _Please_."

His expression softened. "Fine," he conceded. And something of what Davies had said struck true. She could be very persuasive.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he supplied.

"Your bed is huge. There's plenty of space for both of us."

He stared at it as if he'd never seen it before. His throat bobbed, she assumed thinking of the last time they'd both shared his bed.

"I guess…" he said after a moment.

Hermione exhaled in relief. "Could I take a shower? And have something to wear?"

He nodded mutely and went to open his wardrobe. She thanked him as he handed her a large t-shirt and baggy pajamas.

"Witches first," he said offering her the use of the bathroom. "New toothbrushes are in the drawer under the sink."

When she emerged from her long shower thirty minutes later, the bedroom was empty.

"Theo?"

Frowning, Hermione returned to the bathroom and flipped her hair over, drying it with a towel. It didn't bode well to go to sleep with wet hair.

"Theo?" she called out again.

There was no answer so she put the towel away and went looking for him. Maybe he was in the library or in his study. She didn't have to wonder for long because as soon as she stepped out of his bedroom, she saw light coming from down the far end of the corridor, from the study.

She padded down the hall, the stone floor cold against her bare feet.

"Theo?" she called out, turning into the room.

Hermione startled.

"Blaise, hi."

Blaise stood from the sofa, looking as surprised as she was.

"Well," he said slowly. "If it isn't our favorite Gryffindor… here… in the middle of the night," and then he turned his head to look at Theo who was sitting opposite him in an armchair, "and in your clothes."

"It's not what it looks like," said Hermione tugging the shirt down. "I was just…" _Fuck_. She was at a loss for words. "I'm just going to go to bed," she said to Theo with an apologetic look. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

And then she made a show of shutting the door. As she turned to leave, she heard Blaise's voice rise and come through the door.

" _To_ _bed_? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"To sleep, she's just—it's been a difficult week. She doesn't want to be alone."

Hermione padded back, staying close to the wall beside the door and listened.

"Yaxley is dead. Goyle is in protective custody and you, my friend, are their number one suspect—with Hermione Granger in second. So, tell her to go home—"

Theo hushed him. "Lower your voice—and I tried, she won't go."

"Then, make her or is this not your fucking house?"

"She's scared, she needs to feel safe right now."

"Listen to me very carefully. Those Muggles aren't letting this go. Kingsley is under serious fire and it's only a matter of time before you become his scape goat—because we both know they'll never arrest Gryffindor's Golden Girl, not even if she's the one who's behind it—which by the way, isn't such a far off—"

"No," he cut. "She couldn't have. This is Hermione Granger we're talking about—"

"Exactly. The same witch who fell in love with a Death Eater, who impersonated Bellatrix Lestrange and broke into Gringotts—"

"That's different—"

"And that thing she told us about Skeeter? Keeping her in a jar?"

Hermione heard Theo let out a soft laugh. "I'd have squashed Rita like the insect she is."

"Probably best not to repeat that—but that's not the point. Hermione Granger is dangerous and the Ministry needs to know that."

Hermione's stomach turned.

"You want to put everything on her."

"They'll never in a million years prosecute her, but if we could just plant a seed of doubt—"

"Blaise, if you say a single thing to tarnish her name, I swear on Salazaar's grave, I will ruin you. I will make public every single sordid deal you have ever made, the ones Pansy doesn't even know about—"

"If you're not careful, you could go to Azkaban!"

Theo scoffed. "So what? What do I have to lose—?"

"Don't play the martyr, Theo!"

"I did not do the things they are accusing me of!" shouted Theo suddenly. "Besides their evidence is all circumstantial—focus on that and leave her out of this."

"Fine, but as your lawyer, I will say this… your close relationship with Draco's father, it's motive, it warrants further investigation on you and if during that investigation they find out you're involved with Hermione Granger…"

Blaise let the sentence die on his lips.

"Well," there was a pregnant pause. "Then they have nothing."

"If that's true then why, of all places, did she come to you? Why not Potter or Weasley? Her friends—who are Aurors. Why is she wearing your shirt? She could be setting you up—"

"Poppycock!"

"You are playing a very dangerous game, Theo. If it wasn't you and it wasn't her, then… what if Draco really is alive? What if he finds out about your relationship—?"

"There is no relationship!"

"It's one thing to feel it but another to act on it—understand? As long as you haven't done anything."

"What?"

"Have you acted on it? Have you slept with her?"

Hermione inhaled, holding her breath. Before she could exhale she heard Theo utter lie, after lie, after lie.

"No, never. Not even a kiss. We're just friends. Draco would've wanted me to look out for her is all. I've explained this to you before."

Blaise seemed to let out a sigh of relief. "Good, because I was getting worried. It's just a little strange is all…" Another sigh and then he cursed. "Alright, let's sit down and go over everything. I have the case file here. Also, there are some papers you have to sign, but this is for the sale of stocks, probably best we sell before all this gets out. This news will affect the..."

She stopped listening and began to tiptoe back to the room. Sleep would not come so she didn't even bother. She waited in bed, her back to the bedroom door. A bed so large it was bigger than a king. A custom mattress she'd assumed. The softest most comfortable thing she had ever had the luxury of laying on.

The bedroom door creaked open an hour or so later and Hermione felt her body stiffen at his arrival. She heard without looking, the sounds of him closing the bathroom door, of running water, but mostly she could only hear the drumming of her heart against her ribcage.

She felt the bed shift as he climbed in, bringing heat with him. Pretending to stir, she turned around softly.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to show myself."

"It's fine," he muttered turning his back to her. He extinguished the lights and said nothing else.

Hermione waited and listened. As soon as he was asleep she floo-ed home. Her presence there could only harm him.


	58. Now You See Me, Now You Don't: Part III

The horizon was mostly dark canvas, not yet visible till sunrise. Hermione didn't like cliffs. Even before she learned of what had happened to Draco, she found them frightening; it was the precipice, the intimidating height, the quiet beat of the ocean below, the eerie wind that seemed to whistle and whip around them… and yet here she was.

Only Luna would have chosen to have a predawn wedding ceremony on a cliff, on a Sunday morning, and be late for it. That being said, Hermione had barely been able to sleep since she was interviewed at the Ministry. Harry had said they must already have evidence of some kind if they'd called her in, but Hermione couldn't imagine what it was. The conversation she'd overheard between Blaise and Theo hadn't helped either. It had only made her worry more.

The wedding guests had already begun to arrive, taking their seats. Soon they'd become impatient, but Hermione could handle their irritation. She could excuse Luna's delay, explain her tardiness, they'd understand. But Hermione could do nothing to control the timing of the sunrise. Her low heels dug into the soft soil as she walked across the grass. She had to push down her bridesmaid's dress which seemed to flutter in the light breeze; a dainty rose-colored chiffon with flowing sleeves.

Parting the flaps of the Bride's Tent, Hermione stepped in and found Ginny sitting at the dressing table applying lipstick.

"I can't believe she's not here yet," she muttered, looking up at her, as she sat at the dressing table applying lipstick. "The longer she takes, the longer I'm stuck in this silly dress with these ridiculous flowers in my hair and—"

"She'll be here," clipped Hermione. "Because I told her if she isn't, I'll have to kill her. And besides, I actually think the dress she's chosen is very sweet."

Ginny gave a low chuckle. "You're not the one with flaming red hair. This isn't exactly my color."'

Hannah Abbott entered just then, looking frantic. "I just received an owl," she explained. "They were delayed at customs. Apparently, the Twintwilly creature died and there was all this paperwork to fill out in order for them to bring its hatchlings into Britain."

Hermione let out a groan of exasperation. "I can't believe she's adopting when she's meant to be walking down the bloody aisle! I'm all for the care of magical creatures but we have a hundred people waiting and sunrise is supposedly in twenty minutes!"

Anticipating Hermione's annoyance, Hannah raised her hands in a placating gesture. "I'm going to let everyone know what's going on," she said reassuringly. "And in the meantime, find a glass of champagne."

"It's four-thirty in the morning," frowned Hermione. "I don't need a drink, I need Luna."

Hannah rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue. "Not for you, silly! For me. I missed the bachelorette party because I couldn't find a babysitter. Certainly not missing out on free champagne now."

Hermione glared at the retreating figure as she disappeared through the flaps of the tent.

"Just breathe," said Ginny, taking Hermione by the shoulders. "It's not your wedding, it doesn't have to be perfect."

She nodded, taking a deep inhale. It was true, this wasn't her big day but… "I just want everything to be perfect for her. I can't have any more surprises—"

"Luna—?"

Their heads snapped to the entrance.

"What are you doing here?" scowled Ginny. "This is the Bride's Tent."

"My thoughts exactly," muttered Hermione under her breath.

Theo scoffed. "Looking for the bride, _obviously_."

"She's not here," swallowed Hermione.

He barely gave her a second glance as he turned to leave.

"Wait," she rushed out.

Theo stopped and turned back hesitantly.

"Luna will be here. Just—" Hermione looked at Ginny. "Gin, could you check on Rolf's parents?"

Her friend's forehead creased in confusion.

" _Please_?"

"Sure," she said, her eyes darting between them with burning curiosity. "I'll just go then..."

Theo slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers as Ginny passed him.

"Theodore," she said, sounding very much like a mother reprimanding a child. "What are you doing here?"

He gave a half-hearted shrug, still refusing to look at her. "I was invited."

She tried not to look surprised. She hadn't known, had never even thought to ask, she'd simply assumed Luna wouldn't invite him.

"Look, I know I said it wasn't too late to tell Luna but—"

His head snapped up, his dark eyes piercing her, holding her tongue.

"Is that why you think I'm here?"

She shifted awkwardly on her heels. "I just don't want you to cause a scene. It's a special day for her."

"You think I still have feelings for Luna…"

Hermione turned around and began arranging the make-up and beauty accessories lined along the dressing table. She could barely recognize what half of them were for.

"Well, don't you?" she said, catching his gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

Theo reached for something tucked away in the pocket of his robes. He walked up to her and placed a roll of parchment on the dresser. Hermione picked it up and unfurled it, her eyes darting over what looked to be an official Ministry document.

"I received a letter from Luna the day before yesterday, saying she needed help getting clearance at customs. I know someone—used to work with my father—she was missing a certification. I got the necessary forms and Owled them to the department last night. It's her wedding gift…"

"Theo—"

"How could you possibly think I still have feelings for her?" he exclaimed.

She shook her head, rolling the parchment up. "I don't know, I just assumed. You didn't seem to like the idea of her getting married."

"Those are the general rules we men abide by," he said taking the parchment back, "insult our ex-girlfriend's new partners, be petty… act like we don't care when we actually do—"

"You didn't ask me what the Ministry wanted with me," she said suddenly as a way of changing the topic.

"So?"

"They were making inquiries," she said, avoiding his gaze, pretending to fiddle with her floral hair crown. "Where I was, who I was with, about Draco…"

Theo scoffed. "They don't know what you don't tell them, Granger."

She leaned forward, her palms splayed flat against the dressing table, closing her eyes.

"Why do you do that?" she demanded.

"What?"

She spun around, her eyes pinning him.

"Why do you call me Granger?"

It reminded her so much of the way Draco used to spit it out at her when she was young. She was starting to hate the sound of her own name.

His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. "What should I be calling you then?"

"I'd think that after sleeping together I'd at least be afforded the courtesy of being called by my first name—!"

"Excuse me—?"

"—all your other conquests are given that, at least."

"Fine," he said softly. "You really want to do this?"

Hermione would have laughed if she wasn't so wracked with nerves. Because no she really didn't, she didn't want to have any sort of conversation regarding their feelings—

"Why do I keep waking up to find you gone, _Hermione_? Why did you send me a resignation letter, and why did you kiss me? I think it has something to do with the fact that some sick part of you enjoys torturing me, _Hermione!_ "

He had sucked the air out of the room.

"This isn't the time or place."

"You never really forgave me for putting you under that sleeping curse, did you? You still blame me!"

"Don't be silly," she murmured, wondering if there was a modicum of truth to that. She turned back around to the mirror and began to reapply lipstick if only to give her hands something to do.

"I can't do this anymore," he whispered dejectedly.

The words jarred her. There was a clap of thunder and her attention was drawn to the sound of clouds gathering outside. A storm was coming.

His gaze caught hers in the mirror. "This—with you… it's not working."

She barked a humorless, bitter laugh, ignoring the feeling of dread curdling in the pit of her stomach and chucked the lipstick away. "What?" she taunted. "Are you breaking up with me? Because I don't recall—"

"I'm in love with you."

All her breath left her body, her chest caving in.

"But you already knew that…"

Theo jerked the chair around to face him. Grudgingly, she looked up at him beneath her eyelashes.

"And I know you love me…" She pressed her lips together, fighting the sensation of plummeting, "but it's not enough. _I_ am not enough—"

"Don't!" she choked. "Don't act like you know—"

He yanked her up, his grip hard on her arms. "Then tell me," he demanded. "Tell me you're not still in love with a ghost. Tell me and I'll believe you…"

She gulped, hesitating. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips, to speak, to say something… but she couldn't let go of Draco, wasn't ready, couldn't bear the idea of saying the words out loud. And he wasn't surprised by her reluctance, not even a little.

"I don't know where your feelings for me begin and where your devotion to him ends. It's been three years and you still want my memories more than you want me…"

Hermione stared into his dark eyes and saw the pain she'd inflicted on him, the same pain she'd inflicted on herself and wished she hadn't.

She tried blinking the tears away. "I'm sorry," she winced, the first falling. And she was, she was so sorry. "I didn't mean for any of this—"

"I'm leaving Britain tomorrow. For good. I need to get out, get away from all this."

More tears fell. "Because of me or because of the case?"

"Because of everything."

She took his hand in hers. "I never wanted—never meant for you to… it's not your fault, Theo."

"My fault?" he echoed in a daze. "What do you mean?"

She stood, taking his face in her hands. "No matter what happens I won't let them take you."

"Take me?" His eyes narrowed on her and he was about to say something when the curtain flung open and Luna appeared, drenched from head to foot in her wedding dress.

She cried out, startled. "Luna!" breaking away from Theo, a single tear trailing down her cheek and wiped at it quickly.

Theo gave her a half-smile. "Luna, you look," his eyes widened, "wet."

She gave a tinkling soft laugh. "Yes, it was raining and—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Hermione had raised her wand and cast a drying charm on her. "The sun is going to rise any moment now," she said, composing herself. "You still want a predawn wedding, don't you?"

"Yes," beamed Luna. "Yes, I do."

"Here," said Theo handing her the certificate, "before I forget."

Luna placed her hand on her heart. "Thank you," she said, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Rolf and I are so grateful."

"Hair and makeup?" suggested Hermione, clearing her throat.

Luna gave a tilt of her head. "No, thank you," she hummed as if declining an offer for tea. "I'd rather not."

"You look beautiful as is," said Theo reassuringly.

"Like the moon?" she grinned.

He nodded. "Like the moon."

And then she was embracing him, holding him hostage in a tight bear hug. "Oh, I've missed you, Theodore. I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too," he sighed slowly returning the hug.

Hermione cleared her throat again, feeling much like she was imposing on an intimate moment. But then Luna was breaking away, her blue eyes darting between her and Theo.

"I'll wait outside, give you a moment," she said to him, as if this wasn't her Brides Tent, as if her wedding could wait. And it occurred to Hermione that Luna Lovegood always knew more than she ever let on.

"Let me guess," Hermione murmured after the Ravenclaw had left, "fairy dust?"

Theo pursed his lips. "It's unnerving, isn't it?"

Their eyes met and she let out a laugh; a genuine laugh and he laughed along with her. It was deep and unfamiliar. She couldn't remember ever making him laugh.

"You're handsome when you're happy, Theo."

His throat bobbed, and he raised his hand to her face, caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. She let him place a soft kiss at the corner of her lip.

"Bet you a galleon you'll miss me, Granger."

And then he was gone.

She blinked the tears from her eyes, staring at the empty space where he'd been a moment ago. The heat of his palms lingering on her cheek; the sillage of him still potent in the air. And she did. She already missed him, already felt the panic, the need to run after him… but she also knew in her heart that it would be terribly cruel and selfish on her part. Hermione understood why people called it falling in love. She had never thought it was meant so figuratively; that sensation of actually falling, of it all happening so fast, so fast you can barely take a gasp of air before your chin hits the floor. With Draco she hadn't even realized, she'd merely woken up one morning and known. The way breath comes naturally. Imagine then, the ever amounting dread she'd suffered with Theodore Nott who she had not fallen in love with. Because there had been no falling. There had only been the slow-burn of expanding affection, the full awareness that she'd gone from loathing him, to tolerating him, to depending on him, and then understanding with complete clarity that she loved him. Not in the way he needed, though.

He needed someone whole and she had come apart at the seams years ago.

Luna, Ginny, and Hannah entered. Her cheeks reddened. If it had been a secret before, Ginny certainly had an idea of what was going on now. She grabbed the three bouquets of wildflowers sitting in their vases and handed Ginny and Hannah theirs.

Thankfully, Ginny took it without asking a single question. Luna gave her a small smile as Hermione handed her hers.

They stepped out of the tent, and despite the fact that it was still drizzling, Luna looked up into the sky with utter joy and said, "It's time… from this day forward I'll be Luna Scamander."

Ginny and Hannah grinned, their eyes warm and filled with love.

Hermione embraced her friend, holding her tightly. "Luna Scamander is going to be just as amazing as Luna Lovegood," she whispered.

Because she knew... if anything she was blessed with the best of friends.

* * *

The ceremony couldn't have been timed better, had it been planned. There was still a slight drizzle, but they cast an enchantment so the rain fell, but it was like a large invisible umbrella hanging above the marquee and its guests, sheltering them from the rain.

By the time they began exchanging their vows, the rain had stopped and the sun had risen behind them, circling them in a halo of light. Hermione couldn't help but smile all the way through, tucking away her loss of someone she loved aside. Her grief could wait. It would be there tomorrow. And by the time it showed its face, Theo would be gone and she'd be sad, but lighter.

Guilt, she learned, was heavy.

Still… she couldn't help but steal furtive glances of him through the crowd of guests. She noticed he didn't have a drink in his hand, but just as he had three years ago, at Pansy's wedding, Daphne was prettily draped around him.

"So, you and Theodore Nott?" asked Harry, startling her.

He took the seat next to her at the bridesmaid's table.

Hermione pressed her eyes closed. "You and Ginny are worse than a couple of fourth years. _Honestly_."

"You should have told me," he said with a curt tone.

"There's nothing going on, at least, not anymore..." She didn't mention the fact that he was leaving the country. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

He sighed. "No," he said finally. Then he suddenly began to smile into his glass his lips, quirking. "What's with you and Slytherins? Should I warn Zabini?"

She threw her head back and laughed. "I was actually thinking more along the lines of Gregory Goyle. Now, there's a man I can sink my teeth into."

"Don't even joke about that," snickered Harry, cringing. "Besides I heard he's dating some French model now."

Hermione's jaw fell open. "You can't be serious," she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

"And he's broke, so it must actually be love— or she's certifiably insane."

She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Well, good for him I suppose."

"And if there's hope for Goyle, there's hope for you yet," he chuckled.

Hermione's lip split into a grin. "You asked for it, Harry Potter," and before he had a chance to understand her threat, she stood, dragging him by the arm onto the dance floor.

"Oh nooo," he moaned. "Please, I'm not nearly drunk enough to dance yet. In fact, I'm not even entirely awake! Who decides to have a wedding this early in the morning on a Sunday?"

She laughed, pulling, but he was far stronger than her. "Oh come on, Harry! Just one dance! You need the practice for your wedding!"

He was laughing too. "Just leave me be! Go bother Ron—!"

Hermione's laughter died on her lips. Kinglsey had just appeared, followed by the loud crack of apparition. More Aurors materialized and with them; Agent Davies. Harry had turned to look, his forehead creased in confusion.

"What's going on? What are they doing here?"

"I don't know," he frowned.

Heads turned as the M.L.E walked in, the band stopped playing, the music replaced by the hum of whispers. Hermione watched with dread as they made a beeline through the crowd toward Luna's father who was in conversation with Theo. She moved toward him, jostling guests as she tried to get closer.

Theo merely rolled his eyes. "Kinglsey," he drawled. "Funny seeing you here."

"Theodore Nott, you're under arrest for the murder of Corban Yaxley and Fenrir Greyback—"

"What—no!" she cried out before thinking. "You can't."

Daphne glared at the Aurors, as they pulled him forward, spinning him around, binding his hands.

"Wait," Hermione said, stepping in front of Kingsley. "He didn't do anything!"

Harry pulled her away, holding her back by her arms.

"Harry, let me go!" she said.

Luna and Rolf had appeared; Ginny and Ron, too.

Hermione ground her teeth. "You can't just take him!"

Kingsley didn't respond and continued to leave, Theo's dark eyes caught hers as he was shoved forward.

"Careful," he growled. "I bruise easily."

Agent Davies eyed each and every one of them, daring them to challenge her authority.

Ron came to their side. "Greyback's dead?" he whispered to them. "When the hell did that happen?"

"I'll see what's going on," said Harry. "You're not helping him this way."

As he left, following behind them, she realized Harry was right. She wasn't helping in the least. There was only one thing left to do.

"But I was with him," she told Ron watching them disapparate one by one. "I was with him the night Yaxley was murdered—"

"You said—"

"I lied. He… he came by that night. I'd forgotten… there were some manuscripts he wanted me to look over. Just to get my thoughts on them."

Ron sighed, looking at her pleadingly. "Are you sure, Hermione?" he asked, knowing full well that she was making the entire thing up.

"I'm certain."

"Alright then, come on, we better go to the Ministry."

"I'm coming, too," said Ginny.

Ron shook his head. "No. You have to stay here. Hermione has a statement to make so she can come but this is still an official case."

Ginny sighed in resignation. "Fine," she said gritting her teeth, no doubt irritated at the idea of once again being left behind.

Hermione began to leave, pausing to turn to look at Luna apologetically.

"Go," she urged before Hermione could get a word out. "Do what you have to do, Hermione."

"And let us know if there's anything we can do to help," added Rolf, his arm wrapped consolingly around his wife.

She gave them a single nod and turned to Ron. He took her hand without a word and they disapparated.

* * *

Ron practically raced her through security. To her chagrin, she was made to turn in her wand again. When the lift doors opened, Harry was in front of them, his eyes widening in surprise at seeing them.

"Hermione—Ron—good, I was just coming to tell you. Apparently Greyback was found in his cell. Dead. No mark—"

"In Azkaban?" she exclaimed. "How would Theo have gotten into Azkaban?"

"I don't know, but it looks bad on the Ministry. First, we couldn't stop Death Eaters from escaping prison, and now, we can't stop them from being murdered inside prison— Kingsley is willing to hear your statement but the evidence—"

"What evidence?" she spat.

"Yaxley's wand," sighed Harry. "They found it in his manor yesterday. Kingsley issued a warrant for the search. It was found hidden behind a portrait. They went in while he was out. They've built a decent case against him. No alibi for the time of death, abusive Death Eater father, close relationship to the Malfoy's, and he was recently fined for the possession of owning an illegal portkey."

Hermione visibly gulped.

"He does have an alibi," she told Harry. "I saw him. That night—"

"You said—"

"I know," she winced. "But, he came over and—look I'll explain everything to Kingsley. Just get me in a room with him. Tell him I have a statement to make."

Harry removed his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt. "It doesn't make sense," he muttered absently.

"Harry, did you hear a word I said? I want to speak to Kingsley, or Agent Davies, or even Finn. Just get me in a room with them!"

"Why would he keep it?" he sighed in frustration to Ron. "Why keep the wand?"

Ron folded his arms over his chest. "I don't know," he frowned in thought. "Impulse decision?"

"He wouldn't have kept the wand. Theo is too smart for that—see this is what I'm trying to tell you. He didn't do it! He's innocent—"

"Yet they found it," concluded Harry, putting his glasses back on. "The Ministry was given access to his home years back when his father was incarcerated but apparently his house is barred, even his Floo network is closed, limited entry to only three people—"

The lift dinged again, distracting Harry. All three shared a questioning look and turned their heads as the doors opened.

"Blaise," sighed Hermione in relief. "Good, you're here—"

But Blaise Zabini shoved past her, an expression on his face Hermione had never seen before. One of pure rage. He drew his fist back and punched Ron square in the jaw. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he screamed. "You think you can fucking touch my wife— _MY WIFE_!"

Harry and Hermione, who were frozen in utter shock, flickered back to life.

"Stop!" she cried grabbing onto his arm before he could land another punch. "Blaise, stop!"

Harry began wrestling with the other arm.

"Blaise, stop, just listen—!"

But he was suffering such rage that he could focus on nothing else, and in an instant, he'd thrown them both off, his hands wrapping tightly around Ron's throat.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, WEASLEY—!"

A burst of light hit Blaise on his side and he fell, releasing Ron, who leaned against the wall, choking for air. Hermione stood in front of Blaise as he made to stand up, her hands out in front of her, begging him to listen.

"Stop—!"

"You're attacking the head Auror of this department! You'll get yourself arrested!" warned Harry, his wand trained on Blaise.

"Listen to him!" she urged. "Besides, Theo needs your help right now, he's in trouble. He's been arrested for Yaxley's murder—Greyback is dead too."

Something flashed in his eyes, simmering his rage. "Where is he now?" he ground out.

"Downstairs," said Harry. "They're holding him there before they transport him to Azkaban. He'll be there indefinitely till the trial. No bail—deemed a flight risk."

Blaise snarled, his eyes returning to Ron who was clutching at his neck. "Mark my words, I'm going to ruin you, Weasley. And when I'm done doing that, I'll kill you."

He stepped back into the lift, his eyes burning a hole through Ron, till the doors closed and the lift began to descend.

"What the hell was that?" spat Harry.

"Not now," she frowned, throwing Ron a dirty look. "I need to talk to Kingsley! Stay with him—"

"No, I'm fine," he wheezed holding his hand to his split lip. "Harry, go with her. I know the healing charm. I just need a minute."

Harry nodded. "Alright," he said, taking her wrist and leading her toward Kingsley's office. "Let's go."

Hermione remained silent all the way there. When they reached his door, Harry knocked and asked her to wait outside for a moment. A minute later, he came back out and said she could come in. Entering the large room, she saw a long table, one that didn't suit the rest of the office's interior—probably conjured for special purposes when Kingsley needed more chairs and workspace. Agent Davies and Finn were seated across from him.

"Hermione," he said gravely. "Harry tells me you have new evidence to present to us."

She nodded, doing a diligent job of avoiding the others watchful eyes on her.

"We understand you want to retract your earlier statement."

"Yes, Minister, I want to amend it," she corrected.

"Go on, then," said Kingsley, offering her a seat at the table.

She took it hesitantly. It was hardly a formal setting similar to the way her first interrogation had been conducted but they were willing to hear her out, and that was enough.

"Miss Granger," started Davies, and Hermione cringed realizing that the Muggles were the ones doing the interrogating again. "What is it about your previous statement you'd like to amend?"

Hermione cleared her throat, reciting what she'd planned to say. "You asked where I was during the time Yaxley was murdered and I was at home—just as I'd said—but sometime around ten-thirty, Theodore Nott came to see me. He had manuscripts—"

"Manuscripts?" interjected Kingsley. "What manuscripts?"

"The publishing house—Obscurus books, we used to receive unsolicited manuscripts all the time. Sometimes we'd keep a few to see if there was anything worthwhile. He came by wanting to know if I could read them during my spare time and get my opinion on the ones he'd selected."

"You're certain?"

"Theodore Nott and I don't have the type of relationship where he just casually 'drops by'," she said softly. "So yes, I'm certain. I'd just forgotten it was that very night when he came—"

"And what kind of _relationship_ do you two have exactly?" cut in Finn.

"Professional," she enunciated. "I worked at the publishing house he owns."

"Chief-editor," supplied Kingsley. "If I'm not mistaken..."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, he was my employer, so to speak. He stayed a few minutes to discuss the manuscripts and the possibility of me coming back to work."

Davies was scribbling down notes and Hermione longed to know what was being written. She watched as Harry's brow furrowed, lost deep in thought.

"Your employer," repeated Finn softly. "Your… employer…"

She pursed her lips angrily. "Isn't that what I just said?"

He bit the inside of his cheek. "And have you," he gulped, "ever been intimate with Mr. Nott?"

Their eyes locked.

And Hermione saw it then.

Couldn't fathom how she'd missed it before.

She paled, her throat going dry.

She couldn't swallow.

"I don't know what you mean," she whispered, clasping her hands in her lap.

He smiled, almost to himself. "She doesn't know what I mean," he chuckled.

"Look, you've got this all wrong," said Harry suddenly. "I think I know what's going on—"

"Mr. Potter," said Davies, with a leveled look at him. "You're permitted to be present but you're not permitted to interfere. Now, answer the question, Miss Granger."

"Listen," he pleaded to Kingsley. "This is Malfoy's doing."

Hermione swallowed. "Harry, be quiet—"

"How so?" Davies demanded, her shrewd brown eyes narrowing in thought. But the man sitting next to her, his expression was impassive, waiting, almost… bored.

Her world was spinning.

"I believe he killed Corban Yaxley and Greyback—"

"Harry—"

"He planted Yaxley's wand in Nott's home."

"Impossible," spat Davies, standing up. "What evidence do you have?"

"Just think! Why would Nott have kept the wand?"

Finn tilted his head ever so slightly. "Who knows why people do the things they do…"

" _I know,_ " said Harry, digging his finger into his chest with conviction. "I knew it from the beginning but no one bloody listens to me!" Davies folded her arms and waited. Harry had finally got her attention, but Hermione was terrified about what he was going to give away.

" _Harry_ ," she warned.

"Just listen," he spluttered, rambling on. "Greyback almost killed him and Corban Yaxley killed his father, no one had more motive than him. He knew if he killed Corban Yaxley and placed the initials _M L_ on his arm it would make the front page news. He even left the body in a muggle part of New York—"

Hermione watched as the man in front of her leaned back in his chair, a pen balanced between his fingers.

"Harry, stop talking—"

"But he covered his tracks. Not a trace of evidence could be found that he was still alive or ever there— but he needed a way to steer the investigation toward his family and friends, away from any suspicion that it might have had something to do with Fred Weasley—"

"Why?" cut in Davies.

"To make it look like someone close to him had done it. I believe he intended to frame Nott for it," he answered. And then he took a steadying breath and looked at Hermione with something akin to regret. Hermione realized too late where Harry was going with all this.

"Harry, shut up—!"

"To punish him for becoming involved with Hermione. Nott wasn't just her employer."

Her eyes widened. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she hissed furiously.

"Is that true?" asked Kingsley, his eyebrows raised up to his hairline. "Were you involved with Theodore Nott?"

She looked down at the wooden surface of the table. "No," she lied, wringing her hands in her lap. "I don't know what he's talking about."

Agent Finn let out a low dark chuckle.

They all looked to him. He was twirling a pen in his hand again, looking at it as he spun it around, and around again.

"Shame on you," he murmured softly. "After all this time Hermione, and you still don't know how to lie."

In the blink of an eye, the pen morphed into a wand. A spell hit Harry squarely in the chest and he crumpled to the ground. Kingsley was faster and he threw a hex but Finn deflected it, ricocheting off his shield charm and onto Davies, who'd been reaching for her gun. Her body hit the wall and she slumped to the ground, unconscious.

" _Alarte Ascendare!"_

Kingsley was propelled into the air, his head hitting the ceiling and he fell back down. Ropes appeared, binding his entire body and when he struggled against them another jet of light hit him and he grew rigid, laying still on the ground.

Hermione winced, having anticipated that something like this would happen if Harry kept talking, but he hadn't listened to her. She could only watch, paralyzed in her seat, her hands clutching the armrests, her knuckles turning white.

His chest was heaving, his hair disheveled from the fight. He moved it out of his face, running a hand through it, smoothing it down. He went to the door and opened it. With one swift movement of his wand, Harry, Kingsley, and Agent Davies were thrown outside into the corridor.

She heard him close the door and mutter the spell to lock it.

A special spell.

A sealing lock.

One he had learned from her a long time ago.

"Potter," he grumbled, sitting back down. "Always has to go and ruin a perfectly good plan."


	59. Ghost Stories

She heard him lock the door with her wand.

A special lock.

A sealing lock.

One he had learned from her a long time ago.

"Potter," he muttered under his breath. "Always has to go and ruin a perfectly good plan."

Her eyes were downcast as he calmly retook his seat. She wished she could disappear.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he sighed, clasping his hands on the table.

There was a pregnant pause and she thought that maybe this was all in her head. It wouldn't be the first time she dreamed him up, it wouldn't even be the eleventh…

"We should talk."

"I don't want to," she whispered rubbing her wrist where her bracelet once was. "I—"

There was a bang on the door, and then another. Muffled yelling coming from outside. Someone had either heard the commotion or one of them had regained consciousness and was trying to get back into Kingsley's office.

With another flick of his wand, the room suddenly fell silent again.

"Ignore them," he said softly. "It's just us now, okay?"

She nodded, tears trailing down her face. "Okay…"

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Hermione?"

Hermione played with her fingers, looking down at her lap, at the room, anywhere but at him. She pressed her eyes closed shaking her head.

"I need to hear you say it."

She raised her eyes slowly, hesitantly to his. The person staring back at her was unrecognizable. Brown hair, brown eyes, middle-aged, mundane… nothing like him. It made confessing easier.

"I slept with Theo."

He said he had wanted to hear it out loud, but his face was visibly etched with pain.

"I knew... when I saw you two together at the Memorial Ball… the way you were looking at each other… talking in whispers, like you could keep it a secret… you were both so obvious."

She sniffed. "I promise," she tried telling him, "it ended before it even started."

But he wasn't listening. He was staring at the table now too, his eyes empty. "He always did find you pretty…"

The silence was unbearable.

"How did you get past Theo's wards to leave Yaxley's wand?"

Draco's lips lifted into a small smile. "It was easy enough. I took it with me when we went to search the Manor. Planted it, ordered some Auror to look behind all the portraits and _voila_."

"Were you going to just leave him in Azkaban forever?"

"No," he frowned, folding his arms. "Just for a little while, till he'd learned his lesson."

"What lesson?"

Brown eyes snapped to hers. Unflinching. "What do you think?" he hissed.

Her shoulders caved in under his accusing stare. "We thought you were dead," she whispered in a small voice.

"Then you killed me twice," he murmured.

Tears were gathering in her eyes, wondering if he may ever forgive her. He certainly hadn't been merciful to Theo. "Is that why I'm here Draco? Will you punish me too?"

Draco didn't answer.

"Do you," she sniffed, "do you not love me anymore? Is that why you put me through this… charade?"

He was quiet for a long time, his jaw clenching and unclenching, and she thought his silence was his answer. In those few moments, before he spoke, she wanted to shrink into herself and wither away.

In a dejected voice, he whispered, "I think I'll love you till it buries me..."

She brushed the back of her hand against her cheeks, wiping away tears.

Gulping, she asked, "What did you do with the real Agent Finn?"

"He's somewhere in the Caribbean's, lying on a beach, sipping mojitos and enjoying his paid leave…"

Hermione clenched her teeth. "And is that what you've been doing all these years?" she demanded, her hand wiping more tears. "Lying on a fucking beach, enjoying yourself? Plotting murders and frame jobs when you finally got bored?"

He made no reply, simply staring at her with those dead empty eyes.

"Were you living it up in St. Tropez while we were burying you?! Were you in Vegas spending your nights in a casino, gambling and taking in the sights while we grieved you—!"

His fist came down hard against the table, and she flinched, his magic cracked the wood.

"Don't you dare—don't you fucking dare insinuate that I chose to leave you! Love is sacrifice, Hermione, and Merlin knows, I have loved you fiercely. Everything I've done, I have done for you!"

Red, hot angry tears streamed down her face. "Don't use me to justify the things you've done."

"And how do you justify sleeping with Theo? Hm?"

A mournful sob burst from her lips. "You were dead," she cried jolting up from her seat. "You're still dead! I can't even look at you right now! I can't even look at you because you're not even you, you're some Muggle, a strange man I've never seen before—!"

"Sit down—"

"NO!" she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You promised me that when it was all over, you would come back and you broke that promise! I broke your heart? _YOU BROKE ME_ —I'm shattered all over!"

Draco had risen and come around the table.

"Please, calm down—"

"CALM DOWN? Calm down! How can I calm down?! You're dead Draco— _dead_!" Hermione tried to inhale but there was no air in the room.

"I-I'm dreaming," she whispered frantically, her fingers touching her face, seeing if it was solid. "Is it a bad dream? Yes, it's always a bad dream..."

He swallowed, his throat bobbing.

"Hermione, please."

Her head throbbed something fierce. She couldn't… couldn't think straight. She brought her fingers to her right temple and rubbed hard, whimpering at the pounding.

Hammer to head.

Axe to throat.

Her head, she couldn't make sense of anything.

"I must have…" a sob escaped her chest, "must have loved you in another life… and it travels the way starlight does…burning me… burning a hole through my head."

He took a step toward her.

"You're in shock. Take a deep breath—"

"DON'T!" she screamed, wrenching her face from his caress. "Don't fucking touch me, looking like that!"

He reached for her again and she slapped him across his face. "Not real!" she screamed, pounding her fists against his chest, sobbing and spewing all her hatred for him. He allowed it until she grew tired, falling onto him, her fingers clutching at his shirt. "I hate you," she cried, burying her face into his chest. "You died and I hate you…"

She felt arms wrap around her, arms to hold her up. Because it was too hard to stand, so she just let him hold onto her, just for a little bit longer.

His voice trembled in her ear; broken. "I'm so sorry, baby."

And that voice.

It belonged to Draco. His body. His vocal cords. His everything.

"You don't know the things I've lost..."

Hermione raised her eyes to his.

Grey.

The most beautiful color in the world, she decided.

The pounding on the door had started again, but nothing could break their gaze upon each other. She could only stare, wide-eyed at the ghost of Draco Malfoy.

His throat bobbed. "The spell won't hold much longer," he whispered.

But she wasn't ready to let go...

"I'm not done with you."

Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, he rasped, "Neither am I."

Hermione gasped as she felt something cold and metallic press against the skin on her chest. Then, she was being pulled, a nauseating tug at the pit of her stomach. Right when she thought she'd be sick, it stopped and she gulped for breath as if she'd been underwater for a very long time.

"What did you do to me?"

There was something wrong, her head… it felt light and—she brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose pressing her eyes closed.

Hermione swayed where she stood, falling on her knees and hands onto rough cobbled stone. She clutched at the ground, feeling like she needed to anchor herself to something.

"Illegal portkey. The trip can be a little disorienting," he explained. "You need to lie down. What you're feeling will wear off."

She stood up quickly, which was a mistake. Everything became topsy-turvy again and she fell backward, colliding with a wall. She threw her head back and laughed.

 _Funny word_ , she giggled to herself. _Topsy-turvy._

"Come on," said Draco, holding her steady by her arm.

She raised her hand, reaching to caress his cheek but as her fingers came close to brushing his skin, she recoiled, scared to break the spell she was under.

Breathlessly, she asked, "Have I died?"

"No," he sighed.

"But you did," she choked, suddenly remembering. Because everything was foggy and there were things that made sense, that made her want to laugh, like the word topsy-turvy and then there were the things that didn't, that made her want to cry.

"Come inside and lie down."

Her eyes moved slowly over his face, studying every feature, every curve, and every line. She fixated on his mouth, those lips that knew to devour.

She reached out again, and this time she let her thumb brush his bottom lip. "You're more beautiful than I remember…"

Draco caught her hand as she was letting it fall. He held it against his cheek and closed his eyes. As he was doing so, Hermione swayed again, almost falling but Draco caught her, lifting her into his arms like she was a child.

"Let's go inside," he said softly. "You're hurt."

She looked at her hands. Her palms were chafed from falling on the cobblestone and her knees stung.

"I'll take care of you."

For the first time, Hermione allowed herself to look away from Draco. Nothing looked familiar.

"Where are we?" she gulped, still feeling lightheaded.

"South of France. A small town called Mougins."

Hermione buried her nose in the crevice of his neck. It helped calm her mind and the spinning. She'd always been prone to getting carsick but it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now.

"You smell different," she murmured absentmindedly.

"What?"

"You'd give me your shirt to wear and it would smell of citrus and spice, and," she closed her eyes, remembering, "the woods after it's rained. But now, it's a little different."

He didn't respond and she felt them go up a flight of steps, then heard a jingle of keys.

The sound of it was so normal.

She dared to open her eyes as he walked in and laid her down on something soft. A sofa. It was dark and she winced when he drew the curtains open. Looking around, she saw it was a small flat. Smaller than hers, but it was French and beautiful in all its subtleties. And what she noticed before anything else, was that it was completely and utterly muggle.

Hermione watched quietly as he took off his suit jacket, which now hung on his lean frame, and set it down on the sofa next to her. She watched as he went to the kitchen and opened a drawer, taking things out. He came and knelt on the floor in front of her, setting them down.

A small towel, a bowl of water, gauze, antiseptic—

"What...?" Her voice was hoarse. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning the wounds," he said, taking her hand.

A shiver ran down her spine—electricity, magic, nerves, she didn't know what—when he took her hand and gently washed the wound in the bowl. Her fingers itched to thread between his in the water.

"Why don't you just use your wand?" she asked.

He stilled. "Is that… is there a spell for this?"

Something clicked in her mind. She sat up slowly and the world didn't spin this time.

"Or if you have dittany," she suggested.

Draco's gaze met hers again, almost embarrassed. He repeated the word softly to himself, tasting it in his mouth.

"You used to know healing charms," she told him.

"Oh."

"You can't remember," she gulped. Not a question, a realization.

He didn't answer.

"What's my middle name Draco?"

He had finished cleaning her wound, but his fingers continued to caress hers in the water, his thumb caressing the back of her hand and she felt it again. That uncontrollable trembling of her body.

But he still hadn't answered the question.

"What's my—"

"Hermione Jean Granger… I remembered it far before I could remember my own… I used to whisper it to myself, trying to understand what it meant."

"But _how_?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I woke up on a small fishing boat and I was just…blank."

Hermione moved forward, on the edge of the sofa. "How did you start to remember again?" she asked eagerly. Perhaps she could do the same for her parents, get them to remember the way Draco had.

"I was riding a friend's bike. A truck almost hit me. I appeared and reappeared somewhere else. I thought… I didn't know what to think. I was scared..."

She was quiet for a moment trying to picture him riding a bike, a muggle vehicle. She wondered if he remembered how to ride a broom.

"I think using magic triggered it. Because after that night I started to remember, flashes of memory but out of order. Random. And not all at once. I remembered the password to the Slytherin common room before I remembered my mother's name..."

Then he stood and began to clear things away. Hermione didn't know what to say, or what to do with herself except sit there on the divan, mute and dumb in a bridesmaid dress.

"They're going to come looking for you," he swallowed. "For me."

"I looked for you," she said, a frown on her face trying to understand why her spell hadn't worked.

He scoffed, shaking his head as if he didn't believe her. "No, you didn't."

She stood, her feet taking her to him. "Of course, I did—"

"No," he breathed. "You couldn't have. You… you're Hermione Granger. If you looked for me, really looked for me, you would've found me."

"I tried!"

He slammed one of the drawers shut. "Well, you should have tried harder!"

Her lip trembled, her eyes stung… because how dare he…

"You think I just gave up on you? I looked for you, for months, but you disappeared and I… I couldn't live like that. It wasn't living. It was... I was rotting away. It became painful—and you don't know how lonely it was. You don't know because you couldn't even remember me—but I missed you!" she rasped, gripping his shirt. "I missed you till my skin was crawling and my ribs were cracking—"

His lips were a breath away. And her eyes stared at them, wondering if he knew how difficult it was to not lean in… to rip him to pieces…

"Do you love him?"

The question was a douse of cold water and it made her back away.

His eyes were glazed and she was afraid of seeing him cry.

The silence drew out and the first tear fell, running down his cheek. He stepped into her, so close, their noses brushed and the lights in the apartment flickered. Her magic or his, she didn't know.

"DO YOU?" he burst.

Hermione flinched, almost ran from him. She was so lost to her love for him that she sometimes forgot how dangerous he really was.

"Yes."

His face contorted in anguish and his forehead fell on hers, more tears trailing down his face. She cupped his cheeks, stroking his soft skin.

"It's not the way you think," she whispered urgently. "It's not the same, not the way I love you—"

"You don't—"

" _I do_ ," she cried. "It was only once Draco. I promise it was one night—"

"That's not what eats at me the most," he rasped, removing her hands from his face and stepping back. "The years you had with him—and what did we have?" his arm flung out, knocking over a ceramic vase. "Months!" And he was sobbing, his eyes red and his body shaking from the fury of it. "Not even—because they were full of lies and secrets and hiding!"

Hermione had never seen him like this and it scared her. Scared her more than the gruesome murders, than empty eyes and the silence.

"It's because of what I did, isn't it?"

Hermione hid her arm behind her back. Maybe he didn't remember, and he was talking about something else. She prayed he didn't remember because she didn't want either of them to.

"What do you mean?"

His chest expanded, taking a calming breath and his eyes focused, composing himself.

"Show it to me."

"Draco—"

Draco grabbed her arm, forcing it forward. He only had to touch it and the concealment charm flickered once and faded away. He stared at the scar as if seeing it for the first time as if he hadn't been the one to cut it into her. And then he was kissing it, wet tears over scar tissue, in desperation. She wrenched her arm free and shoved him with all her strength that in his misery he fell against the dining table.

" _Don't_!" she hissed. "Don't kiss it, or touch it, don't even look at it… just…" she calmed, lowering her voice and blinked the tears out of her eyes. She remembered how easy it was to win with him. To distract and manipulate him. She reached for his hand, entwining their fingers. "Just pretend it never happened okay? It can be just like it was. We can stay here and forget about everything outside these walls… the way we used to."

She placed her palm on his chest, over his heart. "You're still mine," she whispered against his lips. "Aren't you?"

His throat bobbed, his heart pounding underneath her hand and she thought she'd won.

"Why aren't you inside me, Draco? Why are we still talking?"

But when she slid her hand down to his trousers, he grabbed her wrist so roughly she gasped.

"I can't," he choked. "I can't pretend."

She pulled her hand away angrily. "You ruin everything," she hissed. Then she turned on her heel and stormed into a room, slamming the door behind her.

It was a fairly small bedroom compared to what she imagined his room growing up in Malfoy Manor to be like. It was tidy, the bed was made, a few muggle books on his bedside table. She walked to the large French ornate windows, giving her a view of the street below.

France… she was in France.

The room was stifling. The South of France in summer, she was beginning to realize, was hot. She opened the window, the paint on them peeling. A breeze blew in but it was warm. She drew the curtains closed hoping to keep the sun out.

Hermione jumped when she heard the pop of apparition behind her. Spinning around with her hand on her heart, she found Nix looking up at her with wide orb-like eyes.

"Nix," she said breathlessly. "What—?"

"Master says to take care of you. Nix has filled the bathtub. Here are clothes for Miss and a towel."

She was speechless.

"Nix have you… did you know Draco was alive this entire time?"

"No," he said, matter-of-factly. "Nix didn't know. Missus told Nix two weeks ago. She told Nix to look after him."

Hermione reeled back. Narcissa knew… but when had she found out? How long had she known and told no one?

"Nix can wait while Miss bathes."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Nix can wait while Miss bathes."

A blush crept up her neck, spotting her cheeks. "You mean…t-to wait with me in the bathroom? Oh no!" she laughed nervously. "I don't think that's necessary."

She cleared her throat but the elf simply stood there staring.

"Thank you Nix," she said softly. "But you can go now. I'll call you if I need you."

With an innocent smile, he disapparated.

Her eyes widened. Cleary, Draco's house-elf didn't care much for personal boundaries.

Despite her reluctance to do what, 'Master' had requested, she really did want to bathe. She just wanted to do something normal, to get clean and wash everything away.

Without looking at her reflection in the mirror, she unzipped her bridesmaid's dress and let it pool to the floor. She stepped into the bubble bath Nix had drawn for her. It was soft and comforting. She ducked her head under once and only spent a few minutes luxuriating in its warm folds. Partly because she didn't want to fall asleep and drown in the bathtub and partly because she was worried Nix would unexpectedly pay her a visit.

Stepping out and wrapping a towel around herself, Hermione fumbled around in the drawers under the sink, looking for a toothbrush. She found a new one still in its packet. After having brushed her teeth she walked back into the bedroom, unfolding the clothes Nix had given her and spread them out over the bed. Shorts and a simple spaghetti strap top. Hermione chucked them to the corner of the room in a fit. She marched to the large French wardrobe, pulling both doors open. Her fingers brushed the sleeves of his shirts, his soft jumpers. No robes, she noticed, but jackets. Everything was so _muggle_. She grabbed a perfectly folded t-shirt and brought it to her nose.

Bergamot and… and the woods after it's rained.

It was familiar and yet different. She smiled, changing into it. Then she began pulling everything out and piling them on top of the bed till the wardrobe was empty, save for his pants, socks, trousers, and belt. She fell onto the bed, burying herself in his clothes. She could smell him everywhere and it was the happiest she'd felt in years.

Some minutes later she heard the bedroom door open. Her eyes were closed and she was burrowed underneath all his clothes in the fetal position. She heard him release a heavy sigh, no doubt aggravated about ruining his well-organized wardrobe.

She heard the wardrobe creak open, followed by the thud of his towel falling to the floor. Then she felt him start to take the clothes off the bed, one by one.

"Don't," she whispered. "Please, leave them."

"I thought you'd fallen asleep."

She opened her eyes. "How can I ever sleep again?"

His fingers were clutching a t-shirt but he was clad in nothing but boxers, freshly showered. "Maybe it was a mistake to bring you here," he whispered.

Hermione didn't dignify that statement with a response. Her fingers reached for his right arm and pulled him toward her. "This," she murmured, tracing a tattoo she'd never seen before. "It's new…"

He looked at it and fell to sit on the edge of the bed.

"It kept me hidden. It was probably why you couldn't find me."

She studied the tattoo, geometrical… a blossoming flower on his right forearm while his left was still marred by the Dark Mark. Not knowing the significance of each must have frightened him when he remembered nothing. Hermione sat up, moving closer, her eyes drifting over a body she thought she knew but had changed.

"And these?" she asked, tracing the white scars on his back.

He visibly gulped. "My education."

Her heart constricted.

"What happened to the boy I found crying in the bathroom?"

His eyes found hers. Steel looking out. "He was frightened and weak, and I have outgrown him."

"But I loved that boy," she kissed his shoulder. "I still love him."

She pulled him into her, cradling him close to her chest. Draco closed his eyes, letting himself lay pasted next to her, cotton between skin. As she wound her fingers through his hair, her fingers grazed the shell of his ear, the way she used to… it was his lullaby.

"I don't know how I ever slept without you," he confessed.

Hermione caressed the sharp lines of his face. "I don't know how I ever lived without you…"

She laid her palm flat against the drumming of his heart and let her eyes close; for the first time knowing that when she opened them again he wouldn't disappear like a figment of her imagination.


	60. The Runaways

They slept throughout the day and into the night. Hermione kept waking up, her fingers finding some part of him to touch, to reassure her of his presence. She was warm, slick with sweat. Leaving the window open had barely helped, especially with Draco's body pasted next to her, radiating heat. And although it had cooled down after sunset, it was hot and sticky again. Unbearably so. She ended up kicking most of his clothes onto the floor, and then the sheets. Hermione was exhausted and concurrently awake, an entirely electric sensation running through, keeping her from properly resting.

She laid on her back, her arms at her side, staring at the ceiling; at the shadows cast by the early moonlight from the window, playing against the walls and the objects in the room. Draco was sound asleep, his breath barely audible. He'd turned over and was lying on his back, an arm over his head, a peaceful corpse. She was jealous of his ability to sleep through the heat; the stifling, heavy heat, assaulting her senses.

No ceiling fan, no air conditioning. She had no wand to cast a cooling charm. If only she knew where he'd kept his wand then maybe she'd be able to do something about it.

At a point she couldn't stand it anymore, she drew the t-shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor.

...and it was still too hot.

Turning onto her side, she considered waking Draco. She moved closer toward him and placed her palm on his bare chest. He used to always have trouble sleeping. Nightmares often plagued him and sleep was never deep or long. Her absence could wake him, or a phantom noise, all sorts of hauntings in his head. She knew she shouldn't be making these comparisons but they came to her almost naturally, how much he'd changed. Like realizing that blue was not white and white was not blue but they were both colors belonging to the sky. To her.

She studied him in the low light.

His ice blond hair was a little unruly now that he left it alone, and it was shorter than she remembered him wearing it, but other than that, he looked the same. Ethereal… and also a lot like his father…

Hermione wondered if that made it worse for him. If it hurt him to look into a mirror and see the reflection of his loss every day.

Her heart ached for him.

She yearned to comfort him, to take away the pain. All she had to do was hold him in her. That's where he used to hide from things, after all.

In their room… in their bed… inside of her…

It had been a long time since Hermione had touched him. She felt herself grow greedy to do so, with his skin laid bare and open to her. She was bolder now that he was asleep. Not something she would dare try again while he was awake. If he woke he would protest, he'd want to talk about what he did and the last thing she wanted to do was relive it in dialogue.

She wanted to hide him again; she wanted him to bury himself inside of her, and with it the memory.

To burn it. Burn everything.

And she felt it, the burning.

Burning all across her skin.

He made it worse. Made it pool in her core, driving her mad.

She bit her lip as her palm moved over the smooth planes of his chest and across his torso. This body… this beating heart in its chest.

Alive.

Draco. Alive.

Her body felt it.

Calling.

Her palms slid down his chest, admiring the wonder that he could be hard all over and his skin so soft. Her palm slid lower, her fingertips lightly tracing the line of soft hair beginning below his abdomen. She wanted to follow where it ended. And there was this irrational need to touch him there. In those handful of months with Draco, she had never gathered enough courage to put her mouth on him. But her trembling palm longed to slide beneath the hem of his boxers and remove them; to place her mouth on him now and taste him. She wanted him to be hard for her, to be ravenous for her the way he used to be.

He made the slightest movement and she froze, her heart beating violently in her chest at the thought of being caught. She waited and he remained still. Something inexplicable took over her as she continued to move her hand gently, up and down his torso, her fingertips sweeping his soft skin. He stirred again but she did not stop. She brushed against his lower abdomen—once—twice—and then, almost violently, Draco jolted awake. His hand clasped around her wrist in a vice grip like the first time he'd stopped her.

His breath was erratic.

If there was more light he would've been able to see her cheeks stained with her shame. With arousal.

Hermione wanted to explain, but didn't know how.

She opened her mouth, hesitating. "It's so hot," she rasped. And it was. She could barely breathe. His grip on her loosened as his eyes fell down to her bare body. He gulped and she heard the echo of it in the quiet dead of night.

There was a voice warning her to stop, not to scare him away, but there was also a thrill ringing through her body. She leaned in slowly, offering her mouth to him, brushing her lips ever so slightly against his, and his were burning hotter than the room—

A bang rang violently through the silence and they both flinched. It continued growing louder and more frequent. Draco was up in a heartbeat, tugging a singlet over his head, and his wand in his hand—where he had been hiding it she didn't know. Hermione's first reaction was to pull the sheets up around her chest to cover herself.

"What—?"

Her question was cut short when Draco clasped a hand over her mouth and raised his wand to his lips. "Wait here," he whispered.

She watched, frightened as he left the room. Was it the M.L.E? Had they found him?

The pounding stopped and so did her heart. And she expected anything other than the familiar voice coming from the living room, frantic and angry.

"You weren't supposed to take her, Malfoy, that was the deal!"

"Well, you can thank Potter for that!"

Hermione grabbed for the nearest t-shirt in the pile of them and yanked it on. Stumbling out, she came face to face with a flustered—

"Ronald!" she exclaimed. "W-what, what are you—what's going on?"

"I can't believe you dragged her into this," he spat. "This wasn't the plan—"

"And what was?" she demanded wildly. "Ron, have you known, did you… my God, of course," she breathed, her eyes darting between the two wizards. It was all starting to make sense. "Why would Draco break into Azkaban to kill Greyback when you already have the highest level of security clearance…"

Ron heaved a heavy sigh. He walked to the window by the small dining table and drew the curtains closed. "We don't have time for this," he muttered under his breath, seemingly unperturbed by Hermione's discovery of his duplicity.

"Make time," she growled, glaring at them.

"The night after the Memorial Ball, I was following Pansy," Draco began quietly. "I wanted to see her—wanted to catch her alone. I missed my friend, I was upset—"

"I was meant to meet her that night," Ron chimed in.

Draco's mouth twisted in disgust. "Imagine my surprise when I bumped into Weasley."

"After throwing a few hexes we called a truce, although I wager I'd have won that—"

"We realized we had a common enemy," Draco interrupted, cutting Ron short. "Between the two of us, it didn't take long to track down Yaxley."

"And Greyback?" she asked, knowing the werewolf's ending already.

Draco glanced at Ron. "There was still a few drops of Basilisk poison hidden in my bedroom at the Manor when I went back. It was enough to do the job..."

She had understood the toll Fred's death had taken on Ron and his family, on them all, but… Ron, he could never… he wouldn't, he… except, he had.

Draco had been in Voldemort's inner circle, knew where Yaxley might be hiding, had overheard things at the Manor, but Ron, he was in a position to track anyone, provide Draco with security clearance, with portkeys and anything else he'd need… like a wand… a new identity to get in and out of New York unsuspectingly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she frowned at Draco.

He looked at her with such deep regret that it almost hurt. "You already love one murderer…"

Hermione's eyes fell to the floor. Perhaps Davies had been right—there was something very wrong with her, wrong with them all. How could there not be when she wasn't angry that they'd killed Greyback and Yaxley, only disappointed that they'd lied to her.

Draco read her expression and misconstrued it entirely.

"I couldn't let Greyback live either," Draco ground out between clenched teeth. "Once I remembered, I couldn't forget. I made it a condition of the agreement—"

"Malfoy seems to have forgotten the other," Ron muttered distractedly, his eyes peering through the slit of the window.

Draco sighed. "To stay away from you," he supplied.

"And I don't recall framing Nott for the murder part of the deal either," scowled Ron, letting the curtain fall close and turning to Draco with narrowed eyes. "What the bleeding hell were you thinking putting Yaxley's wand—"

"Wanker deserved it—!"

"Should've known not to trust you—"

"He should be locked away in Azkaban like the traitorous rat he is! Probably plotting to get Hermione back as we speak," he snarled. "And Potter, that meddling—"

"There's no time for this," growled Ron, turning back to the window in agitation. "They've found you Malfoy. You have an hour, maybe minutes, who the hell knows!"

"What?" Hermione breathed. "How?"

"They've traced you," replied Ron.

"Impossible," scoffed Draco, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I'm cloaked. My magic is untraceable."

Ron nodded his head toward Hermione. "Hers isn't."

"But I didn't," she spluttered. "I don't even have a wand. I—" The heat… it hadn't felt normal and her skin had been… she met Draco's knowing eyes.

Her lips rounded in a little, "Oh."

"Here," said Ron, tossing Draco a spinning top. "Your mother sends her regards."

"Where?" he asked, curling a fist around it.

"She didn't say. Time to go 'Mione."

Then Ron took Hermione's hand.

"Wait—" she gasped, snatching it away, stepping back quickly.

"We don't have time!" he pressed. "Kingsley's waiting for authorization from the Minister of France to come and retrieve Malfoy, and the UNSC are probably already on their way. Looks like your polyjuice act royally pissed off Davies."

"Got to hand it to her, she does have work ethic," murmured Draco under his breath.

Ron held out his hand for Hermione to take again. "Come on—"

"No," she protested. "I'm not—Draco, tell him—"

"If you stay with Malfoy, you'll become a fugitive as well. Don't throw your life away, your career, the people that love you—"

" _Draco_ ," she urged. But he was standing still, making no move to stop Ron and his eyes bore into hers, dejected and withdrawn. When she called his name again he gulped and averted his eyes.

"I didn't think it through," he stammered. "When I brought you here, I… I shouldn't have. It wasn't right."

Hermione tugged at the hem of the t-shirt which hung low and loose on her tiny frame.

"I was angry," she winced, "and confused. But we fight, and we make up, that's just what we do, what we've always done—!"

"We can't go back to the way it was, we can't pretend, I already told you—"

"Okay!" she cried, clutching to him, worried he may disappear without her at any moment. "Okay, I won't, I won't push you, we can just, we can start over, go slow."

His eyes grew wide, almost frightened, dancing over her face. "We don't know the meaning of the word."

"Hermione," came Ron's clipped voice. Stern and crisp. "It's been four years. Things have happened. Bad things. You aren't the same people you were. You don't know him—"

"Be quiet, Ron. Right now, I'm not sure I know who you are either."

She turned to look back at Draco beseechingly but he was shaking his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Weasley's right. You should go back home."

And she smiled. Smiled at how stupid both of them still were after four years.

"What are you talking about?" she said, almost laughing. "Draco, I _am_ home."

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it again, hesitating. His fingers fell to his forearm, to the Dark Mark, catching himself before he could claw at it.

"What kind of man would I be if I asked you to stay?" he rasped.

Hermione brushed the pad of her thumb along his bottom lip. "The kind who doesn't need to ask."

"I had a feeling it would play out this way," sighed Ron impatiently, extracting something from his robes.

Her wand.

A flood of relief washed over her at the sight of it and she took it from him, hugging him tightly. He wound his arms around her, squeezing back. "I always knew he'd take you away from us," he whispered sadly in her ear. "I'm going to miss you 'Mione."

"Me too," she breathed.

"Do me a favor, will you?" he said, releasing her. "Don't get caught."

With one single nod to them both, Ron disapparated with a crack. It was probably the closest thing she'd ever get to approval from him.

She turned to Draco and held out her hand.

"It's time to go."

"Wait," he breathed shakily, looking around the small apartment. "I—I'm not ready. I have things, things I need to take."

Hermione sighed knowing there was no more time to waste. She entwined her hand with his, reassuring him. "We have everything."

He blinked, almost surprised as if she'd reminded him of something he'd forgotten. His fingers tightened around hers. Without another word, he placed the spinning top on the smooth surface of the table and spun it. It turned, faster, and faster, twisting, spinning, till a wisp of glittery silver appeared and Hermione leaned in closer, compelled by curiosity; by the beauty of it, but then there was a blinding flash and she screwed her eyes shut. When she opened them, they were no longer at the flat in France.

In fact, she had no idea where they were.

* * *

A/N: So the title of this chapter triggered my memory of this cringe-worthy poem I wrote when I was 15. I've attached it so everyone can enjoy the lameness that was me when I was a wee teenager. It is _kinda_ fitting though in the scope of this Dramione (But honestly, this is just face-palm worthy poetry I just had to share. LOL. Learn to laugh at yourself guys, it saves you a lot of grief!) :D

* * *

 **The Runaways**

And she said baby I want to do something crazy tonight,  
For this feeling, it can't be mentally right.  
And I know I could tell you in simpler words,  
But my heart has my tongue-tied  
The captivity, it seems, absurd.

And this night needs more than a fight.  
Old routines, they've run their course  
Vodka sprite, drink till light.  
I bought cigarettes, a gun, and a car.  
Let's chase something down,  
Something that'll take us far.  
This town's gotten old.  
No surprise  
No delight.

Like lovers in quarrel, let's pray  
Maybe we'll be forgiven someday.  
Till then pack your bags  
We can only repent.  
For the things we said  
With hurtful intent.

So this bridge, we'll drive across tonight  
Don't look back at the burning sight.  
You lit the match that set the fire  
I covered it up by claiming my own heart's desire.

I love you dear, is all I'll say  
These pretty colors you've made  
Reflect today.

[The sound of sirens deafened others,  
while we went out to play.  
And the pretty flames  
Danced a trance forever  
Singing O'Happy day.]


	61. God's Gift

"This is a bad idea," she thought. _A terrible idea, indeed._

Ron's hand stilled in midair, a closed fist hovering over the Burrow's front door. He sighed, turning around toward her.

"Pansy—"

"Ronald, please."

He smiled reassuringly. "They're going to love you."

"Love me?" She arched an eyebrow. "Doubtful. I don't think they'll even like me. Right now, I don't even like me…"

She sighed, folding her arms over her chest and avoided his gaze.

He followed suit, folding his own over his broad chest. "My family wants me to be happy," he began quietly, "and what makes me happy is you."

Pansy cringed, her fingers curling tightly around her arms. "It doesn't feel right to be happy, not while Blaise is…"

The words died on her lips. Her betrayal had changed her husband. He wouldn't speak or look at her, nor would he sign the divorce papers. His punishment was to hold her hostage in his ancestral home and to deny her existence within its walls.

"He's not going to let go," she murmured, staring absently at a point beyond Ron's shoulder. "He doesn't even want me anymore. He doesn't even…" Her throat constricted. Her hands fell to cradle her stomach. "He doesn't even want his own son, and still— still, he won't let go."

Pansy raised her eyes to look at the wizard who had stolen her heart from another. He was staring at the grass beneath his feet.

"Why do you want us, Ronald?"

His sky-blue eyes lifted slowly to meet hers, and she was terrified that he was about to tell her he regretted this; that he couldn't bear to raise another man's child.

Pansy had been so sure the baby was his, that it would have his flaming hair, the same spray of freckles and azure eyes. She and Blaise had rarely been intimate in the last few months, and yet it had only taken one night for him to impregnate her a second time.

"I think—" his forehead pinched, and she watched him hesitate. "I think I like the name Fred."

Tears of relief rolled down her cheeks as she repeated the name out loud.

Ron shrugged a little shyly. "It's as good a name as any."

"And if it's a girl?" She sniffed, giving him a watery smile.

His eyes widened with surprise as if he hadn't even considered the alternative.

"I'll tell you what," she said, reaching out and bringing his hand to her lips. "If it's a girl… Winifred. Fred for short."

She watched as his lips broke into a grin. "Winifred. I love it."

"And I love you, Ronald Bilius Weasley."

They stared into each other's eyes, and after a quiet moment between them, he drew her in holding her tightly to his chest.

She breathed in his cologne, and it felt like home.

"It's going to be okay," he told her.

Gulping, she asked, "How can you possibly know that?"

Releasing her just enough to look down at her, he quirked his lips in what she thought seemed to be a private smile. "Because happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times..."

Those words comforted her. They gave her the strength she needed to wipe the tears from her eyes and steel herself for what was to come.

"Right," she clipped, smoothing down her hair. "I'm ready."

And then she, herself, raised her fist and knocked on the door.

* * *

Without the assistance of a wand or his hands, if he kept focus, Draco could fold the square pieces of paper perfectly, over and over again, until each one became a crane.

The memory of his trip to Japan had woken him at some point last night. He remembered, as if it were yesterday, meeting Mr. Tsushiro. He recalled his wrinkled hands, his pinched face, and his narrowed beady eyes, as his fingers dexterously folded sheets of paper, creating, one after another, enchantments, something he referred to as Origami or paper magic.

Draco was nine. His parents had been invited to an exclusive ball hosted during the Cherry Blossom season by Japan's Minister of Magic. They had decided that he was still too young to attend, and Draco was left behind. He was furious and petulant. He had refused to eat or speak, opting to cross his arms and sit huddled in the corner on the tatami mat floor.

That is until Draco spotted a tiny bird fluttering in, flitting around his room. Except, he soon realized it wasn't a real bird at all. Furrowing his eyebrows, he tried to reach out and grab it as it dipped down, closer. He only managed to brush the tips of his fingers against it before it flew out of reach again. A soft laugh made Draco flinch. Mr. Tsushiro, the quiet, caretaker of the house, was standing in the doorway, looking very much amused. With a snap of his fingers, the thing flying in the air fell to the floor near Draco's feet. He picked it up in his hand and saw that it was a crane sculpted from paper. It lay lifeless in his palm.

Without a word, Mr. Tsushiro walked in and knelt beside him. Reaching into his Kimono, he took out several colored papers. He folded; first a swan, then a tiger, a tortoise, and finally, another crane. And then one by one, he gave them all life.

Draco was impressed, but he was reluctant to give up his bad mood, so he hid his curiosity.

"Enchantments," he sniffed, raising his pointed chin. "Father says any half-decent wizard can perform simple charms."

The old wizard merely grinned a toothless grin, another laugh playing on his thin lips. Suddenly he grabbed Draco's wrist, yanking it toward him. He tried pulling back, but his grip was tight.

"Unhand me!" he screeched, but the man ignored him, and Draco felt a sharp sting on the tip of his little finger. His eyes widened as he saw droplets of blood fall on the charmed animals.

"My father will hear about this!" he fumed, looking at the cut on his finger. "You'll be sorry, you—!"

Without a word, the animals moved toward one another, and he watched mesmerized as the paper ripped and twisted, sticking back together, folding into one another, breaking the forms of the animals, folding and unfolding, until—

"A dragon!" he exclaimed, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. "It's me riding a dragon!"

" _Ikigai_ ," he croaked. "Destiny."

"My name is Draco," he said proudly. "It means dragon."

The elderly wizard shook his head gravely. "This," he said, pointing a bony finger at the dragon flying overhead, "Origami magic... reveals destiny."

Draco frowned. He didn't think father would like the idea of him becoming a Dragonologist. It was a dangerous job, and he didn't necessarily want to—

"Beautiful."

"What?"

"Look," he said, drawing Draco's gaze back to the figure on top of the dragon. "The hair."

His face twisted into a grimace. "A girl?" he scowled. He didn't like the idea of that at all.

The old wizard was laughing at him once again, and Draco was losing his patience.

"Teach me," he demanded. "Teach me how to do it."

And that was when he woke up.

Getting out of bed, he padded softly out of his room, passing Hermione's and into the large open living room. The Spanish villa was, as Hermione had remarked, _stunning_. The exterior was cream stucco walls, hidden by creeping vine and pink bougainvillea. The doors were all the same red mahogany with interior furnishings to match, and—this is what Draco remembered most vividly as a child—high ceilings and grand arches, and blue ceramic tiles adorning the bathrooms.

He had a feeling this was where his mother would send him. It was probably the only property the M.L.E was unaware of. Not even his late father had known of its existence.

Draco had always assumed the villa had been passed down to his mother from her parents, but it was clear that it had been built in the last few decades. It was void of history, of magic, of moving portraits, of ghosts and their stories. It was beautiful and bare.

He understood now with such clarity why his mother had chosen a time when his father was away on business to visit this place. She had hidden the deeds to this land from her own husband, with the foresight that one day Voldemort would turn on their family. She needed a safe house, and so she constructed one.

But when…? When had she decided to do so? Perhaps in the beginning, when she learned that Voldemort had tried to murder a child, a child her own son's age. And Draco would never know unless he asked her.

This was what he was wondering when dawn broke. The estate, which was perched on an isolated cliff, had a breath-taking view of the coastline. Draco could see it from the living room. Facing east, were three large arches, opening up into the back courtyard, and pool. Fans in the living room spun, sweeping away the summer heat, and Draco was seated on the cool cement floor underneath the middle one.

He took a moment to stop folding paper cranes to watch the sunrise. He watched as it first peeked from its hidden horizon and then broke, bathing the living room in bright light.

Looking around him, he saw all the paper cranes he'd folded, each one for Hermione.

This is where he would have brought her if he had taken her during their Sixth year at Hogwarts. To this very villa, in Valencia.

Hermione's eyes had widened when he told her where they were. " _Spain?_ " she had exclaimed.

He pursed his lips, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling inside of him.

"What?" she'd demanded. "What's so funny?"

"I wanted to bring you here."

Her demeanor immediately changed. "Really?" she blushed, misconstruing the meaning behind Draco's words. "How romantic."

He gave her a little shrug. "Not really," he said honestly. "I was contemplating kidnapping you."

Hermione had frowned, knowing him well enough to know that he wasn't joking. All she wanted to know was what had stopped him from carrying out his intentions.

"Ginny Weasley."

An irrepressible smile had tugged at the corner of her lips despite herself. A burst of laughter sprung forth, the sound of it wrapping tightly around his chest.

"I don't think you'll ever recover from that bat-bogey hex," she giggled.

"Definitely a memory I didn't want back," he chuckled, pushing away all other memories he never wanted back out of his mind. And it was easy because Hermione was still smiling, her grin even wider now, taunting, teasing.

"Like the time you were turned into a ferret?"

His smile fell, his mouth slightly open and gaping. "Wha—?"

She threw her head back and laughed and laughed, and laughed.

"That doesn't seem very funny—"

Tears were coming to her eyes, and she was clutching at her stomach, trying to control herself. "I'm sorry," she tried saying while containing her amusement. "I just… I haven't thought about that in such a long time and—really—the Amazing Bouncing Ferret—doesn't ring a bell?"

He shook his head, not in the least bit amused, but he couldn't quite manage to be irritated; because Hermione Granger smiling again like that— it suited her perfectly as if she was only ever meant to be ecstatically happy. Anything else was unacceptable.

Draco was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn't hear footsteps approaching behind him.

"How long have you been awake?"

He flinched at the sudden hand on his shoulder but composed himself quickly.

Looking all around her, Hermione saw dozens and dozens of paper cranes scattered along the floor. Draco didn't want to look at her for too long. She was still clad in her pajama shorts and a skimpy, barely-there muggle crop top.

"I don't know."

Hermione sighed and began picking up the paper cranes.

"Leave them. I'm not done."

"Draco," she started. "I… it's been three nights now. You can't keep—we don't have to… _please,_ sleep with me in the master suite. I don't like us being apart like this."

He turned back around and continued to concentrate on folding more paper cranes. "It's safer," he murmured. "Maybe after the spell—"

"What do you mean, _maybe?_ "

He winced at the hurt tone of her voice, accidentally ripping the paper he had been folding.

"Let's just concentrate on cloaking you first."

She came around to face him, her features falling into shadow against the sun.

"The cloaking spell," she started slowly; her eyes fell on the tattoo on his forearm. "Is it… does it hurt?"

The paper hovered in the air mid-fold. Draco took his eyes off it to meet hers. "The magic is in the ink. It has to be physically etched onto the skin in a perfectly-balanced geometrical shape to bind the spell. It's the only way to do it."

"That doesn't answer my question."

 _It's excruciating, he wanted to say. Please don't do it._

"You've been through worse," he said instead, his gaze drawn to her scar.

Hermione released a heavy sigh and made to sit down next to him. "If you tell me where to get the ink, I can go get it myself. Or maybe—I don't know— but we need to do it soon. We can't risk another," she paused, hesitant, "another incident."

"I know," he clipped. "Look, I'm… I'm busy right now, can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"You're busy?" she gaped in disbelief. "You're folding paper cranes and—and I never thought I'd say this but, there's only so much I can read before going insane. As much fun as it is to live in a palace, I need to get out, I need to…" she took a calming breath, staring out at the ocean for a moment before continuing. "The sooner I cloak myself, the sooner we can help you get your memories back—all your memories back. And then I can help my parents. You're the key, Draco," she said, taking his hand. "It's you."

It was true. He had shown Hermione the estate library as soon as they'd arrived, and she'd passed the last few days in awe, fawning over ancient texts and learning new spells while he had simply sat nearby and practiced the art of silence. In truth, he didn't want her to get her magic back—not yet, because as soon as she was able to use her wand, she was going to— as she had explained—'examine him'. She desperately wanted to figure out how his mind worked, to find his lost memories, and how he was able to remember again.

And he loved Hermione's fascination with everything, the furrow of her eyebrows when something didn't make sense, the brightening of her eyes when she solved a puzzle. He treasured her intellect, her determination, but he didn't want to be under her microscope. Not when he, himself, didn't know his own story.

"You don't need to do it," he began, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, maybe you just don't use magic? You don't need it, you never have."

Her hand fell away, looking at him strangely.

" _Maybe I just don't use magic?_ " she scoffed. "I'm a witch, Draco, magic is a part of who I am, as much as it is a part of who you are."

"I got on fine without it for three years."

"That's rubbish," she deadpanned. "As soon as you discovered you had it, you started using it again."

"But not because I need it—"

"You even spent the better part of last night performing wandless magic. I bet you don't even need a wand anymore, do you?"

"That's not true."

"Even with the gaps in your memory... I can't do nearly as much non-verbal magic as you can. I can only imagine what else you're…" she trailed off, her eyes resting over the paper cranes assessing the level of concentration and command needed to perform such a delicate spell.

He dared to turn his head and meet her prodding gaze. It wasn't admiration on her face but curiosity. She wanted to know how he did it, how he ticked.

"For a long time, I didn't have a wand, so I made due," he explained. "But if you give up magic, I will too."

Hermione's forehead creased in confusion, staring at him as if she'd never seen him before.

"Stop looking at me like that," he chided.

She gulped. "Like what?"

He ran his hand through his hair again. It kept falling in his face, and so a haircut was definitely in order. He liked to keep it at a certain length. He hated it when it was too short, and he looked too much like his father when it was too long. Is that who Hermione saw when she looked at him?

"Like you don't recognize me."

Hermione's lips parted and then shut again, faltering, unsure of what to say.

"Draco—"

He rolled his eyes, barking out a harsh laugh.

"That's not even my name."

"And what is?" she said, folding her arms over her chest, irritated and angry. But she had no right to be, and yet it made Draco hesitate.

"It's—" and maybe it sounded ludicrous but, "people call me Danny."

Hermione drew a deep breath and exhaled. Looking him square in the face, she clipped matter-of-factly, "You are not _Danny_. You are Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy estate, and a powerful Pureblood wizard. _That_ is who you are—"

"I had friends," he pressed. "I had a job, it wasn't much, but I got by—!"

"I'm glad that you got along as a Muggle—!"

"Greyback was the end, Hermione. My intention was never to—"

"To what?" she challenged. "To come back to me?"

Her eyes pinned him. Big and brown, just as they'd always been, completely an utterly enrapturing.

His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. He tried swallowing but felt a lump in his throat.

"Remembering you meant remembering a lot of things I'd rather forget, and it doesn't feel like it happened years ago. It feels like it was only yesterday that I was taking the Dark Mark, that I watched you bleeding and dying in front of me on the floor. You'd prefer I be these memories that I have? To be the boy who killed his headmaster, who carved that—"

"Those things were not your fault—"

" _Everything_ was my fault. You told me to go to Dumbledore, and I didn't listen."

She turned away, staring out into the distance.

" _Say something_ ," he urged angrily. "Explain to me why you want Draco Malfoy back so badly."

"It's not about what I want. You are who you are. That's not something you can change. So you can give yourself a new name, you can live like a Muggle, you can drive a car, go to work, and have Muggle friends, but everything else will remain constant, including your past.

"I'm not looking back, Draco. What's happened— it's done. If playing a persona makes you happy, be my guest, but just know that I didn't pray for Danny to come back to me. I prayed for Draco Malfoy. _You,"_ her voice broke _, "_ are my gift from God."

There was a pregnant pause.

Hermione stared at him in earnest, waiting for him to respond, but he was rendered speechless. Mistaking his silence, she stood and began to leave. He heard her mutter, "When you're ready to do the spell, you know where to find me."

"Wait!" he all but yelled.

Sighing, she reluctantly turned back around, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"You stopped wearing the love bracelet."

Her arms fell slowly to her sides; her shoulders sagged, and regret creased the soft features of her face.

"There's this book. The Disappearing Isles—"

"Of Bryn," he finished. "I remember."

Hermione nodded, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "In the Hogwarts library, under—"

"Under the shelf of Lost Things. I know."

She nodded again, her eyes glassy. "You never asked me what the book was about."

"I know... I was too nervous to think about anything other any meeting you. But what does it have to do with the bracelet?"

Hermione looked to her feet, avoiding his gaze. "The Disappearing Isles of Bryn is a myth," she began. "Islands that appear and disappear, never in the same place for more than a handful of hours. People have tried to find them, some have gone as far as to claim to. In the early 1900s, a wizard created a spell, a powerful tracking spell—but because the islands keep moving, it was necessary to create an anchor, of sorts, so that when the island moved…"

She raised her eyes to his, imploring him to interpret the meaning of it all.

"I modified the spell to find a person instead of a place. I needed something of yours—something of mine. An anchor."

Draco's forehead creased in confusion. "Anchor? What do you—?" He pressed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. "You tried to find me by binding yourself to me using the bracelet."

Her eyes fell back down to her feet.

"Nothing can reverse a binding, Hermione!"

"Well it didn't work, did it?" she whispered before turning to leave again. "You saw to that."

Draco opened his mouth to speak. Once again, he found he was speechless.

* * *

Hermione had burrowed herself comfortably in her favorite nook in the villa's library. It was nowhere near as grand or as magical as the Hogwarts library, but it had an extensive collection of books and authors she'd never heard of, half of which was in Spanish. It occurred to her that she would have to learn the language since this house was to be their home.

In the last few days, Hermione had explored the grounds and walked down the gravel path to the neighboring area. If she walked far enough, other villas and houses would come into view, which meant she and Draco were living close among Muggles. When she got to a certain point, she felt a tingle of magic; the hairs on her arm stood up, a type of static almost. Hermione recognized the spell from the book Draco had gifted her. It was a type of cloaking enchantment. Mrs. Malfoy must have put one up around the property years ago.

If Hermione had any regrets, it was that she had not been able to take anything of sentiment with her; namely her most treasured book, _Rare Protection Charms_ , by Chadwick Boot and Draco's wand, which was securely locked up in her vault at Gringotts.

Hermione didn't glance up when she heard the door open. She made it a point not to take her eyes off her book until she heard Draco say he was leaving the house.

Her eyes froze on the page she was reading and slowly lifted to his.

"I'm going to get the ink," he explained. "I... I'm ready."

A moment or so passed when she realized she had still not spoken. The significance of Draco's words were heart-arresting.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, it's fine," he replied. "I'll be back shortly. But after we do the spell, we're going out for dinner. Everything else can wait till tomorrow." Then before she could respond, he left.

Hermione didn't know how long she stared at the closed library door, yet she was aware that she was smiling. Draco wanted to take her out to dinner. Something so profoundly _normal_ and-and, oh dear goodness, what would she wear? With a stifled squeal of excitement, she jumped up to return the book she'd been reading to its proper place. It took her a second to remember where she had taken it from and then made her way to the master suite to pillage the stock of clothes Mrs. Malfoy had left.

After ten minutes or so, Hermione was standing in front of the large gold-gilded mirror in their bedroom, twirling around in a little black dress. It didn't fit her exactly, but as soon as she was cloaked and it was safe to use magic, she could perform a simple alteration using her wand and—

She started. A loud tinkling bell rang through the house.

Hermione blinked, furiously thinking. Was Draco back already? And how had he left? Had he apparated or— the bell rang again, and a cold dread seized her. She stood frozen in the same spot, her heart beating violently. Because following the second ring of the bell was a knock on the front door—and it couldn't be Draco. Why would Draco need to ring the doorbell? Surely he would have taken a key if he had left that way and…

What if it was the MLE or worse, the UNSC—but, there were powerful wards around the estate, it couldn't be. Only someone who knew where the villa was could find them.

Oh, of course!

Hermione smacked her palm to her forehead. Draco's mother knew, and she could cross the wards.

Running out to the front door, the too-long straps of the dress falling off her shoulders, she swung the door wide open however it wasn't the regal Malfoy heiress she had been expecting.

"Pansy!" she exclaimed. "What are you—?" The girl in question barged in, and the question died on Hermione's lips.

For behind Pansy was Theodore Nott, the brown of his eyes glinting dangerously.

"Hola..."

* * *

A/N: I apologize for taking so long to update. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to wrap things up by Christmas as I'd intended. We're almost at the finish line. Hope everyone enjoys this long-awaited chapter :)


	62. The Curious Case of Theodore Nott Part I

A/N: Hi everyone, I had initially intended to publish this as a companion piece but decided it would be better to condense it and have it written within the Mudblood Lover rather than a separate piece. Enjoy :)

* * *

The room was barely lit save for a few small candles held by the robed Death Eaters standing circle. Theo held his breath, trying with all his mental faculties to hide his fear. The circle broke, allowing him to cross the threshold. It closed again behind him, and he found himself staring into the most frightening pair of red eyes.

Theo fell before him onto his knee. "My Lord," he bowed his head. "I pledge my allegiance and servitude to you. I am truly honoured."

A dark chuckle filled the room. Theo felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise at the hollow echo of it. "How could I refuse such a clever and ambitious young wizard such as yourself from joining our ranks? Tobias has always spoken highly of you… but pity," he crooned, "pity he was reckless enough to be apprehended at the Ministry."

Theo dared to raise his eyes to meet those of a snake. "You will soon find, my Lord, that unlike my father, I'm not the reckless sort." A delighted cackle tore from his gaping orifice, and this time the Death Eater's surrounding him took part in his amusement.

"Spry little wizard, isn't he?" he grinned malevolently.

The others laughed harder as to express their agreement. Theo would have taken note of who was among them, but he couldn't see their faces and try as he might, he couldn't recognise anyone by voice.

"Leave us," he ordered softly. A cold, skeletal hand reached out and curled upon his shoulder. "I have exciting things in store for you, Theodore."

He made a slow rise to stand and waited patiently for the others to leave the room. The door shut quietly behind them. Theo had never been more afraid in his life. With as much conviction as he could muster, he said, "I am willing to do whatever is necessary."

"Good," hummed the Dark Lord and gave his shoulder a light squeeze, an attempt at fatherly affection. "But your first task for me is quite simple. I'd like you to keep a close eye on someone." Theo made a show of feigning great eagerness. "The Malfoy boy has been given his own task. You will observe him and report to me of anything you find suspicious."

They had anticipated precisely this. He feigned disappointed at being handed such a simple task but remained subservient. "Yes, my lord."

"You're friends with Lucius' child, are you not?" Theo didn't miss the twinkle of satisfaction shining in those bloodshot eyes and knew he was enjoying this. "I hope it isn't too much to ask of you... to spy on him."

"No," he said quickly. "My loyalty lies with you, my Lord."

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. " _Still_ ," he drawled, "it must be difficult… to betray such a dear old friend…"

This was the test. The one Theo had spent days preparing for. Lifting his eyes to look straight into his, he allowed the Dark Lord to enter his mind. "As I said," he lied. "I am willing to do whatever is necessary. I will not fail you."

Theo didn't know what was worse. Playing the sycophant or having Voldemort burrow through his mind.

Seemingly happy with what he'd seen, he patted Theo on the shoulder once more. "You will write directly to Bellatrix. Do not let your correspondence with her be compromised. I trust you know what you're doing Mister Nott. Welcome," he smirked, "to the fold…"

It was only once Theo had floo-ed home, in the foyer, did he allow himself to breathe. When he did, a wave of nausea rolled over him, and he ended up getting sick all over the floor.

"Are you alright?"

Theo nodded.

Elma, the house-elf was summoned. She appeared with a pop.

"Clean up this mess and draw Mister Nott a bath."

The elf began to do as she was told. He allowed Narcissa Malfoy to guide him to the sitting room and perform a cleansing spell. She asked him to tell her how it went and if the Dark Lord had taken the bait.

"Yes," he sighed. "It's as we thought. He couldn't pass up the opportunity to pit us against each other. I've been asked to spy on Draco. I'm supposed to report to Bellatrix."

He witnessed Narcissa's eyes cloud with unshed tears.

"Thank you."

He inclined his head forward.

It had to be done.

Her hand touched his shoulder. This one was softer and warmer than the cold dead fingers of the Dark Lord's.

Maternal.

She smiled. "You have your mother's heart."

Theo blinked at the woman before him. Before he could find the words to convey his undying devotion to her, Elma reappeared. The moment had passed to tell her he had always considered the Malfoys family and Narcissa took her leave so he could bathe.

But perhaps she already knew.

* * *

It was the only free period all three boys had together, and they usually spent it lounging about in the Slytherin dungeons, running late for their next lesson.

But when Theo and Blaise walked in, Draco was packing up to leave.

"And where do you think you're going?" demanded Blaise. "I thought we were going to play a round of exploding snap."

"McGonagall, the annoying bint," he grumbled. 'She's making me sit down with some 7th year."

"Must be a Ravenclaw," smirked Blaise. "Can't imagine a Slytherin would want to take their time to help anyone."

"Or might be a Hufflepuff," laughed Theo. "A pretty one."

Half-heartedly Draco told them both to bugger off and left the common room with his book bag swung over his shoulder and a scowl plastered on his face.

They would've found Draco's academic failure laughable and teased him mercilessly if they weren't so aware of why he was failing.

"Do you think it was him?" asked Blaise quietly after he'd left.

Theo merely gave him a withering glare. This was no place to discuss something like this. You never knew who was eavesdropping. He shrugged.

"Today doesn't seem like a good day to broach the subject, let's ask him about this tomorrow."

"There's no good time to ask your friend if," Blaise paused, dropping his voice to a whisper, "if he tried to kill a girl."

Theo remained silent. He excused himself to go to the library a moment later. Blaise didn't protest.

Once Theo stepped through the stone walls of the Slytherin dormitory into the empty corridor, he drew his wand from his robes. Vanishing his books, he muttered an incantation. An inky wisp of sorts appeared in front of him, twisting and dancing in midair.

"Draco Malfoy," he spoke softly.

The black tendril snaked and wound, distending forward, like a creeping vine. With an abated breath, he began to follow it out from the castle's cold dungeons. Then up the moving stairs to the first floor, where he watched it slither forward to the second. He thought Draco might have lied and was making his way up to the seventh floor. Turning down the hall, he came to a halt.

Luna Lovegood was standing still in the middle of the corridor wearing the most peculiar pair of glasses. The inky wisp travelled around and past her toward the end of the hall. He couldn't see where it went from there.

"Theodore," beamed Luna. "I didn't think I'd find you here."

He returned the smile and ended the spell with as much subtly as he could.

"Just out for a stroll," he said casually.

She removed the glasses and went into a ten-minute explanation about how she was looking for Wilfurs. Feigning interest—because he honestly had none in magical creatures, real or fictional—he posed the occasional question.

"So I suppose you could say they're a little like Billywigs."

She gave a giddy laugh. Her blonde hair fell forward, framing her face, and he had to stop himself from tucking a strand behind her ear.

Smiling she said, "You're so funny." He gave a modest shrug, though in truth he had no idea what he had said that was so amusing.

"Would you like to look for them with me?"

Theo glanced beyond her shoulder. He knew what he had to do.

"Sure," he grinned. But he couldn't pass an opportunity to be alone with Luna. "As long as I get to wear the glasses."

Her lips split into a wide grin as she interlaced her arm with his. He spent the next hour wandering the castle looking for Wilfurs, which he was fairly certain, don't exist. He did his best not to make moon eyes at Luna while deliberating whether she would let him kiss her.

* * *

Theo was holding the Quibbler in his hands.

"Father's just run a reprint," said Luna. "People need to know the truth about what's going on." His hands, despite his best efforts to keep them still, were shaking. His left fingers had been entwined with her right fingers just moments ago... until she withdrew them to take something out of her bag. This. This… this death sentence.

"Theo?"

He snapped to attention. "It's a little dangerous, don't you think? Writing articles about…" He was still incapable of speaking his name out loud.

Luna tilted her head, her eyes drawn to a spot on the wall. "Maybe," she whispered. "But someone has to."

He tried not to show the tumultuous thoughts warring within. Calmly he went over the possibilities of what could happen if he continued to see her. If there was a chance he could dissuade the Lovegood's from continuing the Quibbler, then he wouldn't have to give her up. But one glance at her reminded him that that would never happen.

He calculated and weighed the risks of dating the daughter of the man who was openly challenging Voldemort by publishing the wrongdoings of him and his followers. And Theo had told the truth. He wasn't the reckless type. It came naturally to him to consider moves and counter-moves, to anticipate what his opponent would do, to calculate the risk/reward ratio.

The answer was devastatingly simple.

He could no longer continue to see Luna Lovegood. He'd have to give up his _lune_.

He felt a pressure of sorts compressing his chest. He told himself to ignore it. He felt his eyes begin to burn. He told himself to ignore that too. Because he had to prune the variables and Luna was a variable. Granger was a variable too. He'd start with Luna, then he'd deal with Granger, and he'd think about how to handle Draco tomorrow. For now, Theo would concentrate on what to write in his weekly report to Bellatrix. He had become adept at outlining, in meticulous detail, how Draco spent his days at Hogwarts and contorting the truth into believable lies. Draco was in the hospital wing because he'd been practising a dangerous spell. Draco was slow to take action because he was being watched vigilantly by Dumbledore and the other teachers. Draco was working tirelessly on his mission, leaving no room for error. What he omitted, of course, was that his best friend, was desperately and utterly in love with Muggle-born—Elf activist—Gryffindor suck up—Hermione Granger.

A few days later he trudged up the stairs to the Owlery, letter in hand, charmed and addressed to Nott Manor. Where his house-elf would thereby take it by hand to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Sending Lovegood another love letter, are you?"

Theo startled, turning around to find Draco behind him. Sly snake, he hadn't even heard him walk up the stairs. Turning back around, Theo sent the owl off quickly. He couldn't bear to lie to Draco's face, so he said nothing.

"Or is it the Italian girl?" asked Draco with an air of nonchalance. "Whatever happened to her?"

Theo scoffed at Draco's pitiful attempts to sweep their fight under the rug. "Soﬁa?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "That ended as soon as I left Italy mate."

He watched Draco shake his head reproachfully while he gave his owl a letter. Scowling, Theo was still silently berating his daft friend for trying to remove the Dark Mark. He didn't know what had happened, but he knew it had something to do with that pesky Granger, though Draco would never care to admit it. He wondered if the correspondence he was sending now was a secret love letter to Granger and for a split second he felt like bashing his friends face in.

"So things with you and Tracey…?" he asked instead.

Draco merely shrugged, his back to Theo. "Guess it just didn't take."

The anger was simmering inside him. Setting that up had taken him so many carefully worded hints. Tracey was utterly perfect. She was beautiful, funny and smart, and why the bloody hell couldn't he just date some other witch? Why Granger? What the bloody hell did Draco see in her?

Theo had done what needed to be done. He'd broken up with Luna despite it having killed him. Why couldn't Draco see reason and stay away from Granger? Tosser was going to get them both maimed if he wasn't careful. Suppressing his anger, Theo began to make conversation. Quidditch—that was a reasonably safe topic to discuss without being tempted to cast the killing curse.

"I'm glad Urquhart took you back. We might have a winning chance."

"Yeah, winning seems like a bit of a stretch but doesn't mean we won't try. We're playing better than ever actually," said Draco. "We have practice this evening and—oh fuck—I better run if I want to make it on time."

With that, he took off leaving Theo alone in the hallway cursing the day he befriended Draco bloody Malfoy. Keeping his best friend from being Avada-ed was proving to be a lot more complicated than he imagined. He had noticed the strange way Granger kept staring at Draco and recalled, all too vividly, the way their hands were touching when he and Luna had stumbled upon them at the Three Broomsticks. No, he wouldn't have predicted, not in a million years that of all witches Hermione Granger had a thing for bad boys.


	63. The Curious Case of Theodore Nott Pt II

Theodore Nott had boarded the Hogwarts express train for his sixth year, with his trunk, Cecelia, his most beloved burrowing owl and a concealing charm on his left forearm. During the train ride, he had sat quietly away from the others practising his Occlumency. The Slytherin had always assumed that because he was highly introverted, it would come naturally to him. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

More often than not, he either developed a migraine or fell physically ill. Mrs Malfoy had said it was the price one had to pay, and in time they would lessen. Theo didn't remember Draco having the same physical reactions to it though. For his friend, it was almost a switch that he merely had to turn on and off. But Blaise had once admitted to them both that he couldn't shield his mind to save his life despite his mother having tried to teach him. So he resorted to tricks instead.

"Rather than trying to hide things, turn the room upside down; clutter the timeline, confuse the facts, bring everything to the surface at once. It's difficult to navigate a mind when the infrastructure is demolished."

While Theo was tempted to use that technique, he knew relying on it would be too risky with a wizard as powerful as the Dark Lord. So he practised every day until he hoped, it would be as easy for him as it was for Draco, to shut off his mind.

He wasn't there yet, but he'd made good progress thus far. It would come in handy with dealing with Granger. She was on patrol tonight.

As a prefect, finding out when her shifts were, had been easy. He'd followed her a few times, memorising the route she would take, and when, if at all, she'd deviate from her usual course.

Only once, Theo noted, did she change her path around the castle grounds; to escort a couple of third years back to their dormitory after having handed down a hefty detention sentence.

Everything was planned meticulously, his words, his actions, his lies...

Theo watched from the shadows as she and Goldstein split up, as they always did in order to cover more ground. He began to follow her under a spell of his own creation. He found the disillusionment charm too common. This spell, on the other hand, was a thing of beauty. It acted to blind a person from seeing them rather than them themselves disappearing altogether; a selective blinding spell if you will.

He had created it to hide from his father.

Granger swivelled around and looked right through him. "Look, it's not funny anymore!" she called out exasperated. Her voice carried like an echo and faded out. He watched her expression change from irritation to apprehension as she looked about her and saw no one.

"Well, well, well—" She startled violently, a hand to her heart when he ended the spell, appearing as if out of nowhere. "If it isn't the little Mudblood herself."

"Nott!" she exclaimed, trying to catch her breath. "You nearly frightened me to death. It's past curfew!"

Tilting his head to a side, he scrutinised her. He hadn't thought it would be as easy to scare the brave Gryffindor princess.

"I was out looking for some fun," he intoned. "Blaise is with Pansy, and well, Draco's always with Tracey, so…"

He watched as his words planted a seed of doubt.

"That's not really a valid excuse," she frowned. "Go back to your dormitory."

But he couldn't, he wasn't done with her yet. He stepped into her, blocking her path. "Why should I, when I've just run into you?"

She shuffled back, moving away.

Good.

She was frightened.

"Really," he leered. "I can't believe my luck."

The tone of his voice wasn't something he recognised. He had never spoken to anyone this way. No one had ever looked so afraid to be near him.

It was intoxicating.

"What do you mean?" she stuttered.

He watched as she licked her lips and a flash of anger coursed through him. Was this how she had taunted Draco? How she was trying to entice him now—playing the damsel in distress when she was really a siren.

He had corned her without meaning to, and he heard her gasp as her back met the wall.

He needed to bait her.

"No one ever needs to know. I could just slither-in," smirked Theo, leaning into her, "and slither out. I'd make it worth your while."

Her eyes grew wide. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play stupid," he chastised. "It doesn't suit you."

He nearly bit his tongue as the improvised words fell from his mouth. He hadn't meant to say them, but his Occlumency was slipping.

She laughed and it made him feel small. "Sorry, I don't swing that way, but I'm pretty sure if you keep going straight and take a left you can go fuck yourself."

He pouted feigning disappointment. "So you'll make an exception for Malfoy but not for me?"

Her breath hitched. Genuine shock dancing across her face. She tried to deny it, and Theo could only smile at how very predictable she was.

"Don't put your eggs in one basket love. Why should he get to have all the fun? A girl like you deserves better and besides... whatever Draco knows he's learned from me."

Her eyes searched his, and he would have preferred she didn't look right at him. Not when he was acting this way.

Could she see he wasn't really there?

"Funny, last time I checked I was just a Mudblood."

Theo placed his palms on either side of her head, effectively trapping her. "In my dreams, you're both."

She scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm she sneered, "I'm truly honoured."

He watched her cringe as he hummed in agreement. "Didn't think you were the kind of witch who was happy screwing someone in secret. Especially not while they're off shagging someone else."

Something flashed across her delicate features.

The seed was sprouting.

"As I said, I have no idea what you're talking about, and neither am I interested in you. So, if you please—"

Theo grabbed her face and kissed her then.

In the next instant, she had shoved him off. He watched as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. He laughed at how angry and righteous and scared she looked at that very moment. Inappropriate, he knew, hardly helpful but it just came out. This was all too ridiculous—and just what the hell was he doing?

She made to leave, and he tried stopping her. He wasn't sure if he was going to apologise or try kiss her again. Theo would never know because he felt the tip of her wand pressing into his neck and knew if he pushed her any further, he'd end up in St. Mungos.

Letting go, he raised his arms in surrender

But he wouldn't let her win.

"Mark my words," he smirked. "You'll be begging me to take you when Draco's done playing. He always gets sick of his toys, and I always treat them with better care."

Without another word, she ran off down the corridor.

As soon as she was out of sight, he let his walls fall with a tumbling crash. His head felt like it was splitting open; black dots spotting his vision. He took several deep breaths to stop himself from fainting.

Try as he may, he couldn't sleep that night, nor the night after. He couldn't erase the expression of disgust on Hermione Granger's face from his mind.

* * *

The entire student body of Hogwarts was well aware that Hermione Granger had been found, bloodied and dying atop the Astronomy Tower. Theo had eventually gleaned enough information from Snape to piece together what had happened that night. He wasn't entirely sure how Potter and Weasley had come to discover Granger's secret, but he had predicted an unfavourable outcome such as this. It was all about calculating probability, after all.

Someone was going to get hurt, and someone was going to be killed.

Theo had tried to warn Draco of the consequences of his relationship, but his friend was beyond reason. It was no longer a question of whether he would fail to do the Dark Lord's bidding, but when he would betray him if he already hadn't.

There was nothing Theo could do expect trust that Draco had a plan, and he suspected by the way he was watching Potter closely that that plan involved the-boy-who-lived. So Theo watched, and he waited.

The school year was coming to an end. He was at a loss of what to report to Bellatrix, so he merely spoke of what he believed to be true. That Draco's plan would come to fruition soon, and the Dark Lord wouldn't have to wait much longer.

What Theo had failed to discover was Draco's plan to bring Death Eaters into the castle. Theo would have found fixing the Vanishing cabinet an impressive feat if he hadn't been so furious for putting Luna and the other students in danger.

Theo was laying in bed reading by the light of his wand when he felt the slightest burning of his Dark Mark. Draco hadn't returned to the dormitory, and he just knew in the pit of his gut, that something was taking place at that very moment in the castle. Without waking the others, he stepped out and turned toward the direction of Snape's office.

He was just about to round the corner when he heard voices. Pressing himself against the wall, he listened. They were two distinct female voices he recognised all too well. And then suddenly there was a third voice, screaming, the words inaudible at first, and then perfectly clear as he drew nearer.

"Death Eaters in the castle!" cried Flitwick. "Death Eaters in the castle!"

Theo acted quickly. Creeping slowly around the corner, he whispered, " _Dulcis Somnia,_ " putting them into a deep sleep.

The door of Snape's office burst open. He flinched at the sight of Professor Flitwick, and the two young girls splayed out on the floor.

"They're only sleeping," assured Theo, as he stepped out of the shadows.

For a moment Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and then he was gone, his robes billowing out after him.

Looking down on the two unconscious girls, he murmured, "You're welcome."

* * *

Theo apparated before a large Manor perched atop a hill. It had been a long time since he had last visited, but he knew the lands here, by heart. He made his way up the winding path and marched through the gates of Malfoy Manor, shoving Scabior aside when the snatcher had tried to stop him. Theo, for all his father knew, was meant to be at Hogwarts, concentrating on obtaining his NEWT's. What he was actually doing was keeping an eye on the Carrows. Yet as soon as he got word that Luna Lovegood was being held at Malfoy Manor, he left school grounds without any word.

"Where is she?" he burst out, charging into the living room.

Draco was half-dressed by the large french windows staring out. "Keep your voice down," he said without bothering to turn around. "There are rats everywhere."

But Theo grew even more enraged at Draco's inertia. "I said where is she—I want her out—I want her out _now_!"

"She's gone," he deadpanned.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Too many prying eyes," he mumbled. "Death Eaters scurrying along the walls, spying, like vermin."

'Where is she now?" demanded Theo.

"Gone. Escaped."

"Did they…" a lump lodged itself in his throat. "Was she hurt?"

"She was already injured when they brought her to the Manor. She must've fought back when they tried to take her."

"They?"

"Selwyn and Travers."

"Where?"

"On her face and her arms. Mother healed her."

"And when she was here?"

"She was unharmed."

Theo closed his eyes, trying to calm his nerves. When he opened them again, he found Draco watching him, waiting. "Add Selwyn and Travers to the list," he whispered. "We stick to the plan."

Draco blinked and then began to walk out and up the stairs toward his bedroom. Theo followed. When they were behind closed doors, he performed the silencing charm. Draco was clenching his jaw, his eyes vacant as he stepped toward the window of his bedroom. Theo noticed that among the old scars, fresh red welts ran down his back.

"Another lesson from Bellatrix?"

"Potter was here," he answered softly. "Don't worry," he added quickly, anticipating Theo's reaction. "He escaped with Dobby… suffice it to say, the Dark Lord didn't take the news well…"

Theo gulped. "Was Granger with him?"

Draco's eyes focused on the reflection of himself in the window. "She was," he murmured. "She escaped too."

Theo let out a sigh of relief.

"Tell me the names again," blurted Draco, his gaze still frozen on the glass.

"Dolohov, Rowle, Lestrange, Yaxley… Selwyn and Travers," he added lastly, "they're mine."

Draco crossed his arms across his chest, which was still relatively untouched to the rest of his body. "How will you do it?" he asked.

"The same way I'll take care of Rodolphus. When the opportunity presents itself, and the timing is right."

"No. I'll take care of Rodolphus Lestrange."

"That wasn't the plan," said Theo slowly.

"Plan's change—oh and Potter has my wand." Draco turned back toward him. "I'm using mothers."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Will that be a problem?"

"No, I'll make due with what I have."

"And what of the Carrows?" asked Theo. "They think Hogwarts is their new playground."

"We'll take care of them sooner or later."

"I think there's cause for concern to act sooner. Alecto's taken a shine to Blaise. She calls on him a lot to… _discipline_ others." Theo's cheeks reddened at the perverse obsession the Death Eater had developed for his friend. "If we don't take care of it, Pansy will end up doing something reckless."

Draco frowned, his eyes falling to the floor, going quiet again. "Do what you think is best," he acquiesced.

Theo wished he was a Legilimens because he desperately wanted to know what was going inside Draco's head. Something crucial had changed, that much was obvious. When Theo had first spoken to Draco about the extreme measures they would need to take, he had been reluctant to act, but he seemed determined now to follow through. He wondered if it had anything to do with Potter's capture or Granger's presence at the Manor.

"What will you tell your parents?"

"Nothing," replied Draco. "Mother will be glad to be rid of unwanted house guests… Bellatrix keeps turning her roses to ash."

"What do we about your aunt? Should we… add her to the list?"

Another indeterminable length of silence pursued, and when Draco spoke, Theo had never heard such venom, such unaltered hate articulated so quietly.

"No, not yet… my aunt has much to teach me. Besides, I want her alive to witness things falling apart for her precious Dark Lord…"

Theo watched him stare out into Malfoy gardens and realised although Draco was here speaking to him, his friend was very far away.

"I need to return to Hogwarts before Snape notices my absence," said Theo. "You know this would be easier if he knew—if we had someone else on our side who could help."

"No," clipped Draco urgently. "Tell him nothing."

"But he saved you. He lied to the Dark Lord to save your skin."

Draco fell silent for several moments in deep thought. "And yet he killed Dumbledore… we can't trust Severus till we understand his motives."

Their eyes met, and Theo couldn't help but agree. It was far too dangerous a game, to trust their potions professor with something like this when he was clearly carrying out his own agenda—whatever agenda that may be.

The Ministry had fallen, and all of Britain would be next; then France, Germany, Spain, Portugal and the MACUSA would fall eventually too. Theo had always known he would have to choose a side. If there was anything he had learned being raised by a Death Eater it was that they rarely showed mercy…

Neither would he.

And neither would Draco.

"Why did you take the mark, Theo?"

The question startled him out of his reverie. He clucked his tongue reproachfully. "Do you really even have to ask me that?"

Draco's eyebrows furrowed, a grimace twisting his sharp features. "Only a fool follows another fool into hell."

Theo stood to leave. He couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips, nor could he help his parting words.

"Heaven would be far too lonely without you mate."


	64. The Curious Case of Theodore Nott Pt III

Rough stone caught underneath his foot and he almost tripped over the scattered debris. The castle grounds were unrecognisable, its landscape a grotesque scatter of rubble, blood and bodies. Theo kept glancing at the corpses of fallen Death Eaters and fought the urge to check if it was his father's face under any of the masks. Spells were still flying, Potter had sprung to life and was fighting Voldemort. Theo could barely think straight with all the noise and flashing lights.

He caught sight of Granger running around with Weasley. He watched Seamus charge a wizard twice his size. He'd even witnessed the life leaving Bellatrix's eyes, but there was no sign of the Malfoy's.

It would all be over soon, and he had to find Draco. He had to find him before the Order did, or worse, another Death Eater. There were those who had their suspicions on who was committing the murders. They had all sensed a shift in Lucius' son's countenance and knew to be wary of him without being able to quite put their finger on why. Many knew of the training he was subjected to and the hours he spent with Bellatrix Lestrange. Perhaps, they thought, madness was contagious.

But Draco and Theo were meant to be careful... strategic… and on Theo's part, he had been. The Battle of Hogwarts, he reasoned, was the perfect opportunity to rid himself of his enemies without giving himself away. Alecto Carrow had been far too easy. He had come upon her by chance while trailing Luna. He watched McGonagall tie her up at Ravenclaw Tower. It was over quickly. Selwyn, who was powerful, he'd tricked, and Travers he'd been forced to duel. Amycus had been the messiest. There was blood everywhere, and it had turned Theo's stomach inside out.

The list was nearly complete, save for Yaxley. He wondered for a moment if Draco had taken care of him and began searching the castle. By sheer luck, Theo caught a fleeting glimpse of blonde hair. He weaved through the remaining duelists deflecting hexes and falling stone, but as he drew nearer, he saw that it was Lucius and not Draco. He watched as the wizard grabbed a robed Death Eater by the arm and at once, disapparated.

Theo never found Draco. His father, Tobias Nott, was found on the grounds of Hogwarts amongst the fallen. Days later they found Lucius Malfoy exactly where Greyback said he would be, on the very same cliff the werewolf had thrown his son off. He admitted to having acted with Corban Yaxley.

The Death Eater had vanished without a trace, and Fenrir Greyback was sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban.

* * *

The office of Obscurus books was located on the third level of an old Victorian building. Theodore Nott stepped out of the lifts, his burgundy robes flaring out around him, as he made a straight beeline toward a door, its plaque reading, Chief-Editor. He walked silently between sets of office desks lined neatly against the room's bare walls. The employees were too busy furiously clicking away on their typewriters to take notice of Theo, but one unfortunate wizard dared to catch his eyes. Theo threw back a scathing glare, to which the wizard ducked his head and continued on typing. An elf with a squeaky voice dressed in loincloth popped right up in front of Theo, preventing him from entering.

"Do you have an appointment?" he asked.

Theo frowned. Just what the bloody hell was an elf doing here? "No," he scowled, trying to sidestep the tiny elf. "And I don't need one."

The elf followed his movement, blocking his path again. "Ernie was told, 'every wizard needs an appointment.'"

All the while cursing under his breath, Theo began undoing his tie. "Here!" he growled, exasperated, tossing it to him. "You're free. I own this publishing house, and as of this moment, you're free. So go forth and prosper," he said, shooing him away. "On you go."

The elf smiled up at Theo, and returned his tie, "Ernie can't accept this, Ernie is already free."

"Just whose elf are you?" said Theo, his curiosity piqued.

"Ernie is the new intern."

His eyes narrowed in on the elf.

 _Granger_ , he internally groaned.

Even when she was grieving, she still made the time to play the hero. Except Merlin forbid she hear him say that— the heroine, she'd correct.

Theo bent down, so he was eye level with the elf. "Look, _Ernie_ ," he started. "I'm your employer now. I own Obscurus Books. I'm going to walk into the chief editor's office now and fire her, and you're going to let me." Raising himself up, he turned around to the other employees. In a loud booming voice, he said, "Show of hands. Who here worked on getting Rita Skeeter's novel to the best sellers list?"

The clicking and clacking of keys stopped. A few dazed employees looked to Theo and then to each other questioningly. One after another, a little shyly, four hands went into the air.

Theo grinned from ear to ear. "Well done," he beamed. "You're all fired!" Then he burst through the chief editor's office doors to announce the good news.

Later that week, Theo asked Ernie to move the remaining inventory of _The Mudblood Lover_ to his ancestral home on the outskirts of Edinburgh. He was down two publicists, a designer, a copyeditor and chief-editor. Finding employees to replace them seemed like unnecessary work he didn't want. Maybe he'd get Blaise on it. The man had a knack for being able to do just about anything.

Floo-ing home, he found a mountain of books, perhaps three hundred or so, stacked neatly against the wall of his foyer. Removing his cloak, he made his way to the study, his Italian leather shoes clapping against the stone floor. He fell down into the chair behind his father's old desk and wrote out a formal invitation. He stood pacing up and down the fireplace wavering between indecision. Finally, after deep consideration, he summoned Cecelia with a whistle. The little owl came swopping through the open window.

"Find Hermione Granger," he told her. The bird flew back out, the letter clutched in her talons.

A few hours later, nearing midnight, he heard the doorbell ring. He waited, and then he waited some more… until he realised he had freed all his house-elves and chased them off his property.

He made his way toward the front door, grumbling all the while. Yanking it open, he found Hermione Granger, wrapped in warm muggle clothing, her breath fogging the air. "I don't like you," she said by way of greeting. "I'm only here because I'm curious."

Theo opened the door wider and stepped to the side, inviting her in. Without a word, he bade her to follow him.

"What is this?" she demanded, as he led her out to the back gardens. A large bonfire was burning brightly in front of them.

"Well I heard you were running around like a headless chicken buying all of Skeeter's books—A for effort by the way, as inane as that idea was—"

" _Theodore_ ," she sighed. He startled at being called by his first name and how tired she sounded when she said it.

He grew serious as he gazed at her. "I bought the publishing house," he said after a few moments. "We own the rights, and if Skeeter tries to go to another publisher, Blaise assures me we can sue her for breach of contract."

Hermione was blinking furiously and then suddenly she was embracing him; her icky Granger-ness wrapped around him so tightly he thought he'd suffocate. "Thank you," she choked. "Thank you so much."

Theo didn't have his Occlumency in place this time, he was uncomfortably present, and he could hardly deny that her proximity was not entirely revolting. Theo cleared his throat and extracted himself from her. "Right well—"

"Though I'll have you know," she said wiping a tear from her eyes. "That the burning of books is blasphemous…but I suppose in this case… I'll turn a blind eye."

"How generous of you," he muttered.

The most awkward stretch of silence ensued.

"It must have cost you a fortune," she said suddenly. "Thank you."

He grew irritable at how she kept thanking him as if he had done this for her.

"I didn't do this for you, Granger," he found himself whispering. "You're not the only one who misses him. I loved him too."

She tore her gaze from the fire, the heat from it had given her cheeks a rouge tint, and the flames were dancing, reflected in her eyes, like life coming back to her, but when she turned back to face the flames again, he saw that she was still hollow.

"Well," she stuttered nervously. "While I'm still here—"

"You want another memory."

She was wringing her hands.

Theo sighed. What was he going to do with this shell of a girl? Then an ingenious idea came to him.

"Say, Granger," he drawled. "You like books, don't you?"

A small smile tugged on her lips. "It's like you don't know me at all," she teased.

"It's settled then." She cocked an eyebrow toward him questioningly. "You're hired!"

* * *

The Reparation Ball, he saw was an immense success. Theo was proud to have had such a large hand in organising it. Other pureblood families contributed as well, and then, of course, there were the volunteers who'd helped set up the silent auction. He knew Mrs Malfoy had donated a few priceless seventh-century artefacts which were going to raise a considerable amount of galleons toward the post-war effort. Everything was going swimmingly. So just why the hell was Granger looking like an uprooted mandrake?

"Honestly!" she exclaimed in a huff. "Doesn't Blaise have any scruples?"

Theo followed the direction of her gaze to the far side of the ballroom, where Blaise was speaking to Frederica Pellegrini. He watched as the witch threw her head back and laughed at something he said. She batted his arm in a playful manner and in return, he threw her a roguish grin.

"It's only a little flirting Granger," he said, turning back to face her, but the witch ignored him, continuing to subtly—not so subtly—watch them, over Theo's shoulder.

"But he's married for goodness sake, and she's your date! Don't you care?"

He frowned, toying with the idea of what it would feel like to get jealous. Theo caught another glimpse of them together and tried to summon that envious fellow referred to as jealousy. Nothing stirred within. The only thing he felt was pity for Blaise. Unfortunately for his friend, he had become a shameless flirt just like his mother. Yet it was all very harmless he knew. Blaise loved Pansy. It wasn't entirely his fault that he also loved the attention. Theo was almost grateful for him having taken his gorgeous yet utterly boring date off his hands.

"No," he said with certainty. "I don't care."

"Pansy would care," said Granger pointedly. "She'd probably hex him right here in front of all these highbrows and Ministry officials."

Theo felt obliged to defend his friend's behaviour. "Look, Blaise is," he paused to find the right word, " _complicated_."

Granger rolled her eyes. "And what does that mean?"

"It means... that despite our worst fears, some of us turn out to be exactly like our parents."

"Not everyone," mumbled Granger into her wine glass. "Draco certainly didn't."

Theo scoffed. "Oh, please," he jeered. "Draco was cruel, calculating and selfish. He was exactly like his father." _Merlin how he missed his friend._

"He was nothing like Lucius," spat Granger, her little button-nose crinkling into a grimace.

Theo shook his head, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Yes, he was. You just don't want to admit that that's the kind of wizard you fell in love with. The only difference between Draco and his father was that he happened to fall in love with a Muggle-born."

"That's not true," she began to argue. "He—"

"If Lucius Malfoy wanted something he couldn't have, he would have gotten it in the end," he said with a raised brow. "I bet there was a small part of him that was proud of Draco for bedding you." Theo raised his glass up. A toast. "No one loved a good conquest more than Lucius Malfoy. May he rest in peace."

"Blackmailing and bribing Ministry officials, hunting down children, is very different from pursuing the person you love!"

"Oh?" he quirked his head. "Then you clearly haven't heard the rumours…"

He watched as her eyes lit with burning curiosity. Feigning disinterest, she mumbled, "Rumours… what rumours?"

Theo was wearing a Cheshire grin. He leaned into her as if what he was about to say was of utmost secrecy. He watched as she leaned infinitesimally closer to hear him. "Well," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "apparently Abraxas, Lucius' father, didn't approve of his intent to marry Narcissa Malfoy."

"Really?" Her eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed with scandalous thrill. She was clearly tipsy, and Theo could smell the wine on her breath. "But why? They're both purebloods."

"So?" he scoffed. "The house of Black wasn't what we would call in good standing. Andromeda and Sirius Black caused quite the stir—and everyone knew Bellatrix was a screw loose."

Hermione's eyes squinted in thought.

"And apparently," he said leaning in further, "and this is only a rumour—Narcissa Black was interested in someone else at the time… Lucius not only had to deal with his father's disapproval but he had to win her over." Tapping a finger to his lip as if in thought, he added, "now doesn't that sound like a familiar story?"

Granger's lips pursed angrily, her eyes glaring at him.

"Merlin," he laughed. "Hermione Granger rendered speechless…"

Scowling, she jabbed, "And what about you, Theodore Nott, does the apple fall far from your tree?"

A dangerous expression flitted across Theo's face before he composed himself. Shrugging a shoulder, he flippantly said, "Of course." And with those last words, he stepped into the large crowd away from her.

"Don't forget the meeting next Thursday!" he heard her call out.

He turned and gave her an awkward salute.

Theo's palms were slicked with sweat. It was good he hadn't stayed. Yet there was that fleeting instant when Granger seemed to see right through him.

No, no. It was impossible— _impossible_ —he kept reassuring himself.

Everyone who knew was dead.

* * *

His best friend was dead, but to Theodore Nott, he felt very much alive, and he blamed Hermione Granger for that entirely. She kept him alive. Kept reliving memories, asking him to give her all of his. And he had to relive them in order to find them before splicing the frames from his mind. And she kept asking one inane question after another, some of which even he hadn't the answers to. What was his favourite colour? Did his mother ever cut his hair? When did he first learn to fly? Who taught him? What was his favourite flavour of ice cream? And on and on, until he wanted to choke her just to shut her up.

On occasion, he would let his anger get the better of him. He'd curse at her, insult her intelligence and dress sense. He'd pick on the slightest infraction, blow up like a geyser and then regret his words instantly.

More often than not, on those particularly difficult days, Theo would find sleep impossible. He'd pour himself a nice quiet drink, and then stare for hours on end at his hands, crying. Strangely the murders he committed had no guilty hold over him. Still, he shed endless tears, night after night, mourning the dead thestral he had happened upon during the battle.

For his father, he had none, but he did, at times, miss those quiet evenings when he would sit at his desk, working, while Theo would sit on the adjacent side absorbed in a book. The only words spoken between them, were when his father asked to help clarify something he was unsure of; because Tobias Nott was a hard-hearted wizard, unyielding in his beliefs and expectations, but he was also a proud father and entirely aware that he had produced a son of exceptional talent and intellect.

When Theo got to thinking like this, he would go on a bender. Cuba, Monaco, Petersburg, Paris, he even found himself in the middle of the Egyptian desert once unsure of how he'd gotten there. Granger would track him down eventually and drag him back to Britain, reminding him of all the responsibilities he had left behind.

"You could do so much with your fortune, I'd give anything to be in a position to effect real change."

The more time Theo spent with Granger, the further away, his destinations became. The turning point was on a bright, breezy morning when he was rudely roused from unconsciousness on a beach in Sri Lanka.

"How many times do I have to do this!" cried Granger. "You're so utterly selfish and irresponsible! I have half a mind to quit, in fact, another incident like this and I—!"

"Alright!" he snapped, dusting the sand off himself. "I'll get it together." Fighting an immense hangover, he forced himself to shower and sober up, so he was stable enough to travel by portkey. She grabbed his hand in a huff, sliding her fingers between his, and it was this small gesture that made him realise that he'd kept running away just so she'd chase him.

The churning in the pit of his stomach had nothing to do with the strange pull of the portkey and everything to do with the fact that once they'd arrived back in Britain, he hadn't wanted to let go of her hand.

After that day, he gave up his midnight excursions to foreign lands and took to shutting himself indoors. It was, he reasoned, the easiest way to avoid her.

But Hermione Granger was, if nothing, a persistent gnat, and Theo always seemed to have something she wanted— his memories. And on those rare nights— which were becoming more frequent—when she would turn up at the Manor looking to him for relief, he found it impossible not to give it to her.

And it made no sense, yet the more miserable she was, the more he wanted her, wanted to fuck all the misery out of her. Fuck her repeatedly, continuously, violently, till she could barely remember the name Draco Malfoy. And even that was untrue. He wanted to make love to her, he wanted permission to love her without feeling guilty, without thinking of his blatant betrayal. When he thought of Granger, he thought of Draco. The two were intertwined.

Still, he considered it. Perhaps if he could make her feel better, give her peace, even for a moment then maybe she'd give him the same. There had been times where he had thought about leaning in and kissing her… but he dared not touch her again after the last time he'd kissed her. The image of Hermione from Hogwarts, her features screwed with disgust, were still imprinted in his memory.

Besides—it was all so very wrong; to feel closer to Draco when he was only getting closer to her.

Sometimes Theo wondered if she knew how much her presence tortured him and found solace in his suffering. Because as long as Hermione Granger still loved Draco, Theo could not let go of either of them.


	65. Lost and Found

It was around the time Theo was trying to reconcile his feelings for Granger that the first letter came to him. He took it cautiously from an odd-looking owl, the likes of which he'd never seen before. It observed Theo through protruding auburn eyes, urging him to open the envelope.

He recognised the handwriting straight away. Falling into an armchair by the crackling fire, he began to read.

 _Dear Theodore,_

 _It's been a long time since I've heard your voice or seen the elegant script of your handwriting. I never told you this when we were in school, but I always looked forward to receiving your letters. I would wait by the window for Cecelia to bring them to me._

 _How is she?_

 _I miss her almost as much as I miss you._

 _I hope you're doing well._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Always sincerely,_

 _Your friend,_

 _Luna Lovegood_

He balled it up in his fist and chucked it into the flames watching the edges curl and burn. Luna belonged to another life, not this one. Theo would keep it that way. And still, despite his silence, the letters continued to come, and the owl watched as he read every single one before flapping his broad wings and flying away.

After the third, he stopped throwing them into the fire but still couldn't find it in him to respond.

The day he received the fourth letter was the day of the book launch. Looking amongst the crowded ballroom of Nott Manor, he caught a glimpse of Hermione grinning. Her smile was crippling. He could never tell if she was genuinely happy or playing the part.

Theo snuck out and down the winding path leading to the garden ponds. In the far corner of the estate, there stood a lone iron bench along a pond filled with purple water lilies. It had been his favourite reading spot as a child. He'd sneak out here and read till the sun went down. These days it was the only place where he could find a modicum of peace. He sat down and pulled a flask from his robes. Removing the lid, he took a deep swig. The firewhiskey used to burn his throat going down, but now he scarcely felt a thing.

The only light in the gardens was the low-hanging full moon. It reminded him of Luna, and her letter residing like a secret in the pocket of his dress robes. He took it out and re-read it.

 _Dear Theodore,_

 _I realise by now that you're ignoring my letters. Still, I continue to write to you because I'm certain one day you'll write back. I wanted to tell you that I was in Pennsylvania when I came across a Wilfur. I instantly thought of you, and that afternoon we spent at Hogwarts together. I still remember how silly you looked wearing my spectrespecs._

 _Your friend,_

 _Luna_

Theo re-read it again and again, till he had it memorised by heart. He tore it up and sprinkled the pond with its pieces. It was silly the way he had carried the letter around with him, but he supposed it was the pressure and weight of the thing he couldn't ignore. Some sentimental part of him wanted to write back. Enough time had passed for Luna to forgive him, but he couldn't imagine forgiving himself...

What could he do or say to make it up to her without revealing the truth? And it was the truth he so desperately wanted to avoid. Earlier today, he had written a response and chucked it out immediately after. The truth, on parchment, appeared ridiculous to him; that he had taken the mark to help Draco, that he had broken up with Luna to protect himself and then stunned her and Granger—

"What are you doing hiding out here?"

He had his wand drawn so fast, Hermione flinched. Her hand was on her throat, her lips open in a soft gasp. The long silver dress she was wearing made her glow under starlight. Theo gave an exasperated sigh and dropped his wand. "I'm drinking," he shrugged. "What's it look like?"

She pursed her lips in that way that made her look like a schoolmarm. "There are cocktails being served inside."

"Barely any alcohol in those froufrou drinks."

Hermione sighed in frustration. "Theo, come on."

"What? I just can't stand crowds. Can barely breathe in there."

"All your friends are there—"

"You mean _your_ friends," he jeered muttering over her. "Surrounded by all you bleeding hearts. Don't know why you keep organising these things—"

"It's good PR. It's—"

"Bollocks!"

Hermione sat down next to him on the iron bench. "I see right through you, you know? You're not a bad wizard. You're…" She took a deep breath. "There's so much good in you."

He turned his head ever so slowly and regarded the woman beside him; an expression of utter disbelief was written all over his face. How could Hermione Granger possibly presume to know him, to presume there was anything _good_ about him? His voice was thick, the words sticking in his throat. "You've no idea the things I've done."

Hermione gently shook her head, her curls bouncing. "I know. I remember what you did. I know—"

" _You don't_ ," he growled.

He watched as she swallowed nervously, the sound of it apparent in the silence of the night.

"It turns out Granger that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Not at all..."

"Just because you took the mark doesn't mean—"

"Do you really think Draco was the only one with blood on his hands? Have you not figured it out yet?" Hermione stared, her face pallid like stone. "The Carrows, Travers—"

She stood so abruptly it gave him pause. "We're going inside," she hissed. "And we're going back now! You've had too much to drink... _as usual_."

He stood too, stepping into her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Unfortunately it's a symptom of having to be around you."

Hermione's cheeks flushed with anger and she tried to snatch the flask out of his hand, but he hung on to it evading her attempts. "Theo," she huffed. "Just give it to me. I don't want you talking like this."

"Why?" he demanded. "Don't you want to know who else I've killed!"

She grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward her. "Theo, _please_ , don't speak of such things! Don't ever…" her voice broke. "Come back inside with me."

"I'm perfectly fine where I am."

Hermione's hand slid down from his wrist to his fingers, caressing them lightly. Theo gulped as she raised her head, her eyes burning a hole through his black soul. "This is a momentous occasion..." she said softly, giving him a watery smile. "We're publishing Aberforth Dumbledore's memoir. Do you not realise how—?" she hesitated, scrambling for the words, overwhelmed by emotion. By the light of the moon, Theo could see the glistening of tears in her eyes. "Not only is this a huge success for Obscurus Books, but for you—for us. It might have been my idea, but you were the one to convince Aberforth that the world needed to hear his story, Ariana's story…" She stepped closer and Theo had to force himself not to look at her lips. "For tonight, can you just be here… with me… and let everything else go? I just want one night without…" His heart was racing, his fingers longing to intertwine with hers. She reached for the flask and this time he allowed her to take it from him. "I don't know what to do when you get like this. So please, just come back inside."

He gave a slow nod, disguising the way his body was alight so close to hers. And he noticed she wasn't leaving. She was staring at his lips. It dawned on him then that he could kiss Hermione Granger at any given time, and she would kiss him back.

Theo tore himself away, knowing he had to put distance between them before either did something irremediable. "Fine." He stepped around her and began walking back toward the Manor. Half a minute went by before he heard the soft padding of her footsteps catching up to him. No matter where he tried to hide, this girl always seemed to be able to find him.

* * *

Theo's day could not get any worse, and it was only seven-something in the morning. He was emotionally exhausted after his confrontation with Hermione. But everyone at the wedding was all smiles and cheer, and he had to fake it as he made his way through the crowd. Theo had never been more grateful to Daphne. Sensing his distress, she voluntarily did most of the mingling for him. Instead of asking if something was wrong, she hung on his arm and gave him a warm, reassuring smile that everything would be alright.

Still he couldn't help how his eyes would seek out Hermione without meaning to. When he'd told her he was leaving the country, it didn't come as a surprise that she hadn't tried to stop him. He knew, deep down in the marrow of his bones how things would end with her. Hermione Granger would always love Draco Malfoy, and any poor sap after that was only ever going to take second place.

At Hogwarts, he had resigned himself to losing Luna, and now he resigned himself to losing Hermione. Fortunately, Theo was the type of wizard, that once he made his mind up, he could easily accept the reality of things without the fuss of letting go. He would leave Britain and move on. It hurt now, but it would hurt infinitesimally less tomorrow, and then a little less the day after, and the week after that, till eventually, he felt nothing at all.

Daphne was engaged in conversation with Xenophilius Lovegood. Theo was in the middle of searching for a way to join in on the conversation, so as not to seem rude when he realised the band had stopped playing. The loud music and laughter had fallen to a murmur of whispers. He turned around just in time to see Kingsley, accompanied by a handful of Aurors. Amongst them was the awful Muggle woman who had questioned him at the Ministry the day before. Theo rolled his eyes. His day had just gotten infinitely worse.

"Kingsley," drawled Theo, as the Minister approached. "Funny seeing you here."

"Theodore Nott, you're under arrest for the murder of Corban Yaxley and Fenrir Greyback—"

A cry broke out, and his attention was drawn to Hermione as she made her way toward him. "No! You can't!"

He felt Daphne sidle closer and intertwine her arms around his protectively; a subtle gesture she made when she felt insecure or unsafe. It was of no use though. Two Auror's pulled him from her grasp and spun him around, binding his wrists. Daphne remained calm, but her eyes were glaring with righteous indignation. He mouthed to her to find Blaise and she gave the most imperceptible nod in return.

They spun him around again, and he was facing Kingsley once more. Agent Davies stood behind him, her eyes with steadfast determination. He could hear Hermione protesting but was only vaguely aware of the things happening around him. Truthfully he could barely concentrate on what anyone was saying above the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears. Corban Yaxley and Fenrir Greyback. Both murdered; one in Azkaban and the other in New York. It hadn't been him, and despite what Blaise thought, Theo knew Hermione could never raise her wand to kill another. "You can't just take him!" she cried.

Theo looked into her frightened wide eyes as they searched for answers he didn't have. His gaze drifted toward the wizard standing next to her...

Ronald Weasley.

For a fraction of a second, the redhead met his stare before resuming his efforts to hold Hermione back. That's when he realised that there were others who would have liked to see Corban Yaxley dead and there was only one wizard amongst them, who also happened to have the keys to Azkaban.

One of the Aurors shoved him forward. "Careful," he growled. "I bruise easily." Theo felt the pull of apparition and then before he knew it, he was back at the Ministry. His wand was confiscated, and he was being pushed into a small dimly lit room somewhere in the bowels of the building. Agent Davies took the seat opposite him and began firing question after question. He didn't so much as breathe a word. Blaise had prepared Theo for this, anticipating the worst-case scenario. He had planned a safety net. They would request a veritaserum test, and he would pass it with flying colours. What Theo hadn't been prepared for was when Davies magically produced Yaxley's wand.

"We found your little hidey-hole behind one of the empty portraits," she said, presenting it with a flourish, "do yourself a favour, Mister Nott… confess."

Davies sighed, the wand lying between them on the table, no doubt meant to frighten him. Theo stared at the offending object, as still as stone, but his thoughts were focused and narrowed on Ronald Weasley. He laid the facts out visually before him in order, and they looked, in his mind, a little like this:

 _1\. Someone is framing me for the murders of Corban Yaxley and Fenrir Greyback._

 _2\. Corban Yaxley killed Fred Weasley and Lucius._

 _3\. George Weasley was out with Angelina Johnson at a party, the night of the murder._

 _4\. Arthur and Molly Weasley were at home with their sons Percy Weasley, Bill Weasley and their daughter-in-law, Fleur Delacour._

 _5\. Charlie Weasley had returned to Romania after Fred's funeral and had remained there since._

 _6\. Pansy had confessed earlier on, that she had been with Ronald Weasley the night Corban Yaxley was killed at a hotel in Muggle London. I verified her story. Under the haze of my Imperius curse, the hotel clerk confirmed that two guests under the name of Parkinson had checked in around noon and checked out the next morning._

 _7\. Ronald Weasley was head Auror of the MLE and had ample opportunity to kill Fenrir Greyback._

 _8\. Yaxley's wand was found in my ancestral home._

 _9\. Only Blaise, Hermione and Pansy have access to the Manor._

 _10\. Ronald Weasley could not have broken through the wards to plant Yaxley's wand._

 _11\. Fenrir Greyback confessed to killing Draco._

 _12\. Draco's body was never found._

He blinked, his eyes re-focusing onto Agent Davies. One thing kept niggling at him. "Who found the wand?" he asked.

She couldn't suppress the slight curving of her lips as Theo broke his silence. "Does it matter?" she said. "The point is that we found it."

He drew a deep breath, becoming impatient. "I'd like to know who it was that found it."

She studied him for a few moments, most likely weighing the consequences of telling him. "Fine," she shrugged. "I don't see any harm in telling you… With your father's history as a Death Eater, it wasn't difficult for us to convince Kingsley to issue a search warrant. While you were out, we removed your wards and went in. Tight security system by the way. I wonder what else you're hiding."

Theo smiled. "Did Ronald Weasley join your little raiding party?"

Her eyes narrowed on him, finding his question strange. "No," she said slowly. "My partner did. Agent Finn."

Theo frowned and added it to the list of facts. Number thirteen.

Davies stood taking back the wand. She presented him with a Muggle pen and paper, laying it down before him. Moving around the table she took his hands and un-cuffed him. "Like I said," she muttered, "do yourself a favour and confess." The door slam closed behind her.

Theo stared down at the blank piece of paper before him. He immediately took the pen in hand and began writing quickly, his script an illegible blur. The list was now laid out before him. He added number thirteen.

 _13\. Agent Finn found Yaxley's wand._

He then went through the list beginning from one. Then to simplify things he added point fourteen and fifteen.

 _14\. Ronald Weasley had motive to kill Corban Yaxley but could not have done so._

 _15\. Ronald Weasley had no motive to kill Fenrir Greyback but had access to Azkaban and its prisoners._

The nib of the pen pressed down on the full stop, going through the paper. There was something Theo was missing, something so obvious. He only had to make the connection. Taking a calming breath, he went back to the mystery of Yaxley's wand. Someone was framing him. He could hear Blaise's voice telling him that Granger was setting him up. Did she have motive? Yes. Was it physically possible for her to have hidden the wand at Nott Manor? Yes. But did she? Absolutely not. He had learned her heart and her mind. He loved her and was steadfast in his decision to exclude her from his list of suspects.

Yet he could not overlook her importance.

His hand shook as he wrote down number sixteen.

 _16\. I slept with Hermione Granger._

Theo's body seized with dread as he stared at the page before him. There was only person who would want to see him rot in Azkaban.

The door suddenly swung open. Blaise burst forth, flustered and furious. "Theo—good they've taken off the cuffs—don't worry, everything's taken care of," he said reassuringly. "You'll be out of here in a few hours, at most."

"I lied," said Theo quietly, "I lied to you before."

Blaise swivelled, closing the door with some urgency. "Don't say another word. I've already filed a motion for dismissal pending a veritaserum test. I'm going to take care of this, I'm—"

"I acted on it. I slept with Hermione..."

His friend's jaw clenched. Several moments went by without either saying anything.

"You idiot," he whispered. "You utter fool."

The door swung open once more. Blaise turned, "I'm not finished speaking with my cli—!"

He stopped dead. Potter was at the door out of breath, his face flushed.

"Merlin!" exclaimed Blaise. "What the hell's the matter with you? What's going on?"

Potter looked over at him from the doorway, and their eyes locked. "It's Draco," whispered Theo, feeling a tear begin to run freely down his cheeks. "He's come home."

* * *

Three days later, Theo was seated in the living room of Malfoy Manor with Pansy and Mrs Malfoy. Blaise had refused to come. It seemed he couldn't stand to be in the same room with Pansy, let alone sit next to her. Theo knew not to ask twice. He was livid with Pansy and disappointed with Theo for having known and not told him. Despite everything, the truth was that Theo had hoped Blaise would never find out. He didn't want things to change more than they already had. In time, he thought, Pansy would come to her senses and end things with Weasley. After a few years, it would seem as if it had never happened. Instead, Pansy confessed.

"It's always nice to see you both," smiled Mrs Malfoy. They smiled back politely, feeling a little awkward. Pansy was fidgeting in her seat and politely refused the cup of tea she was offered. Theo had told her to be patient and broach the topic carefully but, before he could stop her, Pansy was blurting out everything. An indignant rant seemed to flow from her lips without conscious awareness of what she was saying.

"—and I think it's only fair—after all this time—after all that he's put us through—years—it's been years—we deserve to see him!"

Narcissa watched her with careful appraisal. "Of course," she said once Pansy had finished. "I understand." Then her eyes snapped to Theo's. "I'm sure Draco would be happy to see you both."

He cleared his throat. "I'm not so sure of that."

"Well, I am," retorted the Malfoy matriarch, raising her chin. "I know my son."

"Did you know what he was doing?" demanded Pansy. "Couldn't you have stopped him?"

She folded her hands delicately, ignoring the accusatory tone of Pansy's voice.

"I suspected he was responsible for Corban Yaxley when Severus showed me the papers, but I wasn't aware of Draco's quarrel with you, Theodore. I didn't know what he had planned to do and, for that, I sincerely apologise..."

Theo shook his head. "It's my fault."

"And you know how sensitive and unreasonable he can be," she finished with a quirk of her lips.

Pansy scoffed. "I wouldn't call framing someone for murder as unreasonable," she muttered under her breath. "Maybe _insane_. I mean honestly, I can't believe he just—" her eyes began blinking furiously, and Theo knew they ought to leave before the waterworks started. Pansy seemed inconsolable these days. With her world tilting on its axis, she was coming apart. Her relationship with Blaise was irreparable and after just recently having discovered the true paternity of her child, Pansy doubted that Weasley would remain devoted to her. That Draco had tried framing Theo for murder made Pansy's blood boil. That he had been alive this entire time and not told Pansy, well that broke her heart in ways, Theo knew, only another woman could understand.

Without trying to appear too eager, he asked Mrs Malfoy, "So where is he?"

She looked at them apologetically. "I'm afraid I can't tell you. The Ministry is still looking for him and if either of you are called in for questioning then..."

"We understand."

"But I can arrange a portkey," she said quickly, sensing Pansy's agitation. "Elma will bring it to you tomorrow."

"Thank you. We'll make sure we're not being watched."

They remained there for a few minutes so as not to appear rude, but Theo could feel Pansy squirm impatiently next to him. Not needing to be escorted to the fireplace, they said goodbye and took their leave. Standing before the Floo, Theo asked his friend if she needed anything.

"No, I'm going to Ron's flat. I'm meant to meet his parents tonight."

Theo gently pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. "It's going to be okay, Pans."

She returned his hug, squeezing him tightly before letting go. He kissed her on her forehead and wished her luck before stepping into the flames.

The next day the portkey came as promised. He sent word to Pansy immediately to arrange a time to leave. It was how he found himself standing outside a Spanish villa the next morning, waiting with a sense of foreboding, for someone to answer the door.


	66. Chess Pains

The streets were crowded and the air had a humid, sticky quality to it which Draco hated. The hot weather was doing nothing to alleviate his worsening mood. So far he'd been unlucky in his search for the flowers needed to perform the spell and without them, the spell itself would be useless. Heaving a sigh he yanked open the door of the fifth flower shop he'd visited in the span of two hours. _Flores La Alqueria_. Draco decided that if this shop didn't have them, he would return to the villa and leave the search for another day. The truth was that he felt uneasy about leaving Hermione alone for too long. Try as he might, his paranoia would not relax its closed fist upon his throat. He worried gravely, imagining the possibilities of what could happen to her while he was running about looking for flowers… the British Ministry could apprehend her, or worse, the UNSC.

An old heavy-set woman appeared in front of him, a warm smile worn on her face. When she spoke, Draco's incomprehension must have been etched on his own because she immediately reverted to speaking English, coated in a thick Spanish accent. "Ah, _una tourista_ , of course!"

"Well, actually…" Draco wavered, clearing his throat. "Yes, I'm a tourist. And I'm looking for some hyacinths, blue specifically."

 _"Jovencito,_ those are not romantic, come look at these rosas — !"

"No, I don't need those," he said abruptly.

Her smile fell a little as her eyes narrowed in thought. "Ah," her eyes lit up once again. "For your madre, sì?"

"No," he clipped. "I'm making my own ink at home and I need them to make the dye."

Her smile turned into a pitying frown. She made a strange sound with her tongue which Draco understood as chastising him for buying flowers with the specific intention of destroying them. Nevertheless, she gestured to him to follow.

" _Venga_ … come. I show you."

He was so relieved he all but shouted, "So you have them?"

"Sì, sì. Hyacinths."

Draco followed wordlessly. The purchase was quick and painless. The florist seemed to have lost all enthusiasm in helping him after she had learned that he had no romantic intentions behind buying the flowers. She handed him his Muggle change and some ten minutes later Draco was walking up the steep hill toward the front door of his Spanish villa.

It had taken him a visit to four different flower shops before he had finally found what he was looking for and still his work was not nearly over. He still had to dry the petals, mash them to a powder, and turn them into ink. While it was somewhat difficult to procure in the wizarding world, Draco knew it would be nearly impossible to find such a thing in the Muggle world — at least nowhere he knew where to look. He knew he'd have to make the damn thing himself.

These were the thoughts running through his mind as he slid the key into the lock of the front door. He took his time entering, being careful to place the flowers on a table in the foyer. Assuming Hermione was still holed up in the library reading, he didn't call out for her. Instead, he thought it would be wise to make the ink first and then pull her out of whichever novel had consumed her during his absence. A mortar and a pestle, he thought. That's what he'd need. It would be best to do all this in the kitchen and so that's where he was headed. It's not as if he had a Potions lab —

He stopped dead as he crossed the threshold of the living room entrance. Hermione was sat opposite someone; a girl he barely recognized, perhaps in some long-loved dream; dreams of youth and innocence in its infancy; something sweeter than this older life.

Her eyes were fixed upon his.

Hermione, whose back was to Draco, stood quickly, turning toward him. It was not Hermione who spoke though, but this other girl. This porcelain, waif-like creature, all black hair and eyes; glistening, sharp eyes.

Her voice was just as sharp. "Draco," she clipped, her chin held high. "I suppose Potter isn't the only 'boy-who-lived'."

He made to open his mouth, to say something but the only thing which escaped was her name. Breathless and soft.

"Pansy…"

The corner of her lip tugged upward into a small smile. And then they were embracing, arms wrapped tightly around one another in a fierce reunion of friendship.

"Pansy," he said again.

"Yes, it's me. You remember..."

"I do," he answered.

She only hugged him tighter. His eyes lifted for a moment meeting Hermione's. She was standing behind them, tears in her own eyes and… and something else… fear... apprehension. He saw the infinitesimal shift of her gaze beyond him, and over his shoulder. Releasing Pansy he turned round slowly only to find himself standing face to face with someone who he had once considered a brother.

Draco could not breathe. He could not think. He could only feel the trembling of his soul; the betrayal fueling a rage that was blinding him.

"Draco."

He felt a soft hand cover his.

"Draco, stop."

He blinked, coming into himself. There were objects levitating in the air, floating higher and higher. He blinked again and they fell, an earth-shattering clatter on the floor.

"What the hell is he doing here?" he hissed, his gaze levelled at the wizard before him.

Pansy seemed suddenly wary of him. "Draco," she warned in a low tone. "Our dear Theodore has come to see you."

Something sick was stuck in his throat, his voice hoarse and low. "Then he must have a death wish."

Hermione winced. "Theo, maybe you should just —"

"Don't talk to him!" rasped Draco, his eyes wild and upon her within moments. "Don't even…" He couldn't finish. Just the mere sound of that name stirred a vengeance so putrid he could taste it like bile rising up his throat.

"There's no need to be rude," said Theo softly, his wand sliding down from the sleeve of his robes.

Draco took no time in raising his, wholly intent on cursing Theo, then and there.

A spell — one used so eloquently — hit Draco square in the chest sending him flying across the room into one of the archways. Hermione gasped and ran over, kneeling beside him on the floor.

"Are you alright?"

He ignored her, his head snapping up wholly intent on returning fire but it wasn't Theo's wand which had thrown him. Pansy's wand arm was raised and shaking. Despite her trembling hand, her expression was ironclad and unyielding. Theo, Draco noted with some measure of dissatisfaction, stood beside her and did not even bother looking afraid.

"You have been gone for far too long, Draco," she began in a faint whisper, "it seems you don't remember me at all."

Draco flinched at her words. They were, more than any spell, a painful blow. It was true. He could not say whether he remembered Pansy entirely, especially like this, especially now. Perhaps he never would...

"Do you really think I'd allow you to harm Theodore in my presence?"

Draco blinked.

"But, he—"

"I don't care," she cut softly. "I know there have been mistakes on both sides, but you will make peace with each other, and if you haven't by the time Hermione and I return, as Merlin is my witness, I will leave and you will be dead to me. _Truly_ this time."

Hermione blinked, her expression incredulous. "Pansy I don't think that's wise—"

"We must let the boys squabble this out." And before Hermione could protest further, Pansy had taken her firmly by the arm and outside into the back courtyard, through the gardens and beyond Draco's field of vision. Her honey-brown eyes met his in one last desperate plea, and he knew if any harm came to Theo, she too would never forgive him.

In his absence, Theo had not only stolen Hermione's love, he had managed to win Pansy's as well.

Draco turned back to face Theo.

They glared at each other in silence.

"You tried to have me sent to Azkaban."

Draco raised himself up off the floor.

"You slept with the woman I love."

The corner of Theo's eyebrow lifted in question. "Are we even?"

"Seeing that you're not actually in Azkaban — no… not even close."

Another round of silence ensued.

"Hermione told me you don't remember what happened to you," said Theo breaking it first.

"You're not taking her."

"I didn't come here for her."

"Then what the hell are you doing here!"

"I'm paying an old friend a visit."

"Well," said Draco feigning regret. "Where are my manners? Would you care for a drink?"

Draco snapped his fingers.

Nix suddenly apparated between them. He looked around for a moment befuddled. His eyes widened as he took in Theo's tall form. "Master Nott—"

"Nix," interrupted Draco, angrily. "Bring us two whiskeys. There's no reason to mingle with unwanted house guests."

Theo pursed his lips. "If you don't mind I'll pass on the drinks. I'm surprised you didn't just try poisoning me instead. Finish the job this time, heh?"

Nix looked back to Draco, silently asking him for instruction.

Draco barked a humourless laugh. "I don't kill family."

"Good to know you draw the line at fratricide."

Draco grimaced. "Fine," he growled. "Just one whiskey then, Nix. Merlin knows I need it."

The elf nodded and disapparated leaving the two wizards alone once again.

"What do you want, Nott?"

"I told you," muttered Theo, taking a seat and making himself right at home. "I've come to see my friend. Is he still in there or is it just some murderous wizard?"

"Funny," sneered Draco, "because I recall it was your idea to start killing Death Eaters."

Theo released a deep sigh. "You drew your wand against Snape to protect Dumbledore in front of an audience. And Voldemort might have believed the web of lies Snape spun for you, but the others were never going to forget it! I thought the safest thing to do was to remove them before they removed you. I never said anything about torturing and maiming them first!"

"You have no idea what it was like — you have no idea the things _he_ made me do — the trials I was put through!"

"I asked for discretion—!"

"You think yourself above me, don't you? Because _you_ were too much of a coward to go through with it!"

"I did go through with it!" thundered Theo, coming to stand. "Selwyn, Travers, the Carrows… the difference is I didn't hang a neon sign above my head with a big 'fuck you' to Voldemort—!"

Draco drew back, his eyes growing wide.

"I didn't know," he whispered. And there was something remarkably devastating in knowing that his friend had cast the killing curse and taken a life.

Theo's jaw was clenched, his chest heaving, trying to contain something. Not anger, perhaps tears. "I should never have done it, I should never have—" he faltered. And moments went by where Draco simply stared into Theo's fearful expression, wishing against all odds that they had never come to this. "All of it… every decision I've made in the last four years. I wish I could take it all back."

Draco sunk down onto the leather wooden chair, his back hunched, and his gaze to the floor. He felt a hundred years old; tired beyond his capacity to live.

"I didn't know," he said again.

"The Battle of Hogwarts was the perfect cover. To this day, no one has ever suspected a thing."

"I wish you wouldn't have."

Draco's claim fell on deaf ears, for he had only whispered it to himself.

Someone cleared their throat. Draco hadn't even realised that for the last few minutes he'd withdrawn into himself staring at the terracotta tiles. When Theo spoke his voice was rough against the silence. "Care for a game of chess?"

"I recognise this," said Draco, watching closely as Theo revealed a chessboard of emerald green and white. "We only use that board during Christmas."

"You remember…"

Theo sat on the chair opposite him, its wooden legs dragging as he drew it nearer to Draco. There was no surface for him to place the board so he merely placed a levitating charm so it hung in the air between them. He began setting up the chess pieces.

"It's been many Christmas' you've missed."

"I suppose…"

It took only moments for Theo to finish setting the board.

"White or Green?"

"Green," murmured Draco, remembering quite well, "I'm always green."

Theo played first. He reached out, taking a pawn off the board and placing it on a white square. It was Draco's turn, he knew. He reached out to his pawn and paused. His eyes roamed the chessboard and its pieces. He remembered each and every one. He knew he always chose green… he remembered he had played chess before — countless times —but he couldn't remember _how_. He hadn't a clue as to how to win the game, the rules, nor what the pieces did.

Theo waited for a few minutes. Draco's frown deepened with the humiliation of forgetting something as simple as this. No matter how hard he concentrated he couldn't recall a thing.

Having apparently guessed the reason behind Draco's hesitation, Theo began explaining the game to him. "These are your pawns," he said softly. "Pawns can move one or two steps forward on their first move, and then only one step forward afterwards. They can only capture another piece diagonally, like so."

Some minutes later, Draco recalled something. A memory, not in its entirety like the last one, but he had lived this before, he was certain. "We've done this before. You were the one who taught me chess the first time."

Theo who had been hunched forward over the board sat back in his seat, blinking at him. "Yes… when we were both ten-years-old."

Draco's eyes fell down, roaming the chessboard. The complexity of the game. The skill and patience a ten-year-old would need to play.

"You've always been quite the intelligent one, haven't you?"

Theo smirked whilst pulling something out of the pocket of his robes. "I'm not intelligent," he scoffed, tossing Draco the object. "I'm a bloody prodigy."

He caught it with dexterous hands, the wrapped object nestled safely in his palms. With some measure of caution — as any sane wizard would have before accepting something from a man you'd tried to imprison — he unfolded the delicate handkerchief.

What presented itself to Draco was a clunky pocket watch. It looked rather dull. A simple timepiece without a belt chain. The glass case of the watch was missing too. He held it up to his ear and was unsurprised to find that the pocket watch was not even ticking.

"Am I supposed to know what this is or why you've given it to me?"

"It's a time-turner."

"A _what_?"

"Let's just say that I'm lucky that the Aurors didn't find this during their search of my Manor because if they had, I wouldn't have been sent to Azkaban, I would've been sentenced to death. Unauthorised possession of a time-turner is forbidden."

"How kind of you to give it to me," said Draco scathingly, throwing it back to Theo.

The wizard rolled his eyes, chucking the time-turner back to Draco who caught it deftly once again.

"You're holding the most valuable and most dangerous device in the Wizarding World — or at least on this side of the continent. That pocket watch can take you back to any time you want to go to. Previous time-turners in existence would allow you to go back an hour or so — at most. That," he said pointing to it, "is unlike anything that has ever existed. Turn the dial on that and you can go back to any moment in history."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "And where exactly did you find this?"

" _Where did I find it?_ " baulked Theo. "Mate, _I made it_."

Draco stared at the wizard he had once considered a brother wondering for what purpose he would want to create a device such as this because he had no doubt in his mind that Theo was capable of making such a thing.

"Should I ask why?"

Theo heaved a heavy sigh. "A curious thing happened during the summer before Seventh year… Dumbledore was dead and the Ministry was hanging on by a thread, desperate… I knew there was a chance that Nott Manor would be raided as yours had been, so I put it upon myself to clean the Manor of anything the Ministry would deem _unseemly_. I came across something though — something too long forgotten to know how it had come into our possession… a pocket watch. Quite like the one in your hand."

Draco's body had shifted forward. He was sitting on the edge of his seat listening with rapt attention.

"The one I found, it needed something, a special anchor I couldn't locate. But I figured I could study it and create another, more powerful one. I sought to return to the Battle of Hogwarts and find you; stop history from repeating itself—"

"But you didn't," added Draco bitterly.

Theo looked down at the chessboard and Draco could see a dark cloud hovering over him like a thick blanket. "Because I realised that history can not be altered in such a way. Time is a fickle friend, Draco. Pull on the wrong thread and you change the course of history in ways you don't mean to. The battle of Hogwarts is too volatile a time to enter; too many variables to consider… I do not think it possible to go back and change things now."

"So what would you have me do with it?" challenged Draco, the tiny flicker of hope extinguished. "Fling the useless thing far into the big blue ocean?"

"I didn't say it was useless. I merely said we can't amend history, well not exactly the way we think we can."

Draco stood slowly, his eyes fixed upon the pocket watch in his palm as it dawned on him as to why Theo had given him the time-turner.

"You expect me to use this thing?"

"I don't expect you to do anything... Consider it my formal apology. It's yours now. Do what you like with it. Toss it, destroy it, lock it away in a drawer and let it gather cobwebs if that's what you choose."

" _Or_?"

"Or use it. Go back. Save your father."

The low flame which had stirred in Draco turned into wildfire, a force crackling in his marrow. He thought he would never set eyes upon his father again. In fact, he could not remember the last time he had, for those memories were still lost to him.

"If it cannot change history, then how?" he asked. "How do I save my father."

The same flame was burning in Theo's eyes, not one of hope but of brilliant madness. "You will not be able to change things as they were but I suspect that you can bring things back."

"You mean to say…"

 _No, thought Draco. It couldn't be._

"Go back to before your father was killed. Pluck Lucius Malfoy out of that stream of time and bring him back here."

Draco watched as Theo placed his fingers over a pawn seeming to contemplate something. He finally picked up another and placed it two steps forward on the chessboard.

"It's your move, Draco…"

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry that this story has taken longer to finish than expected! I've been desperate to write but haven't found the time to do so. I most definitely plan on completing it in the next few months and will try my utter best to update quickly. Thank you for all those who review. I hope everyone continues to enjoy this fanfic and are keeping safe and healthy. If you're looking for something else to read in the time being try my other Dramione 'The Disappearing Isles of Byrn'. See if you can spot something which overlaps.


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